Down to You
by winterlit
Summary: When things with Rachel don't go as planned in Senior Year, Finn finds himself growing closer to Kurt than ever before. It's up to him to figure out what he wants, but is it Kurt, or Rachel, who is worth fighting for? Finn/Kurt, spoilers for S3.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Finn smiled to himself, tossing a football between his hands with a lazy shrug. It was only the beginning of December; just because it hadn't happened yet, it didn't mean it wouldn't happen at all. Get his bench press reps up a bit, keep his head up, wave to the crowd, and it would all be okay. Life always had a way of working out for him.

He wiggled his toes, took a deep breath, and opened the choir room door.

Rachel was pacing in circles. Finn smiled at her, but noticed her crazy, brilliant eyes were squeezed shut. She clutched a thick manila envelope in her hand, muttering a litany of _I can't_ under her breath, then raised her hand to her forehead in a dramatic, sweeping motion.

Finn rushed over to her, not quite knowing what to say, and wishing his pockets contained smelling salts and a fan like that Mr. Darcy dude she was always harping on about.

Kurt patted Finn on the shoulder, then shook Rachel forcibly. "Cut the crap, Barbra," he said, grabbing the envelope from her tiny hands and tearing it open without ceremony.

As Rachel opened one eye, cautiously, she shook her head, the fear on her face palpable. "Oh God, what does it say. Kurt? Kurt?"

"For you, my dear?" Kurt broke into a wide grin, and threw the letter in the air. "Everything's coming up roses!"

Once, Rachel had claimed her voice could break glass. It couldn't; Finn had called her bluff on that during a particularly boring date night in Junior year, and was actually thankful because he'd placed two of his Mom's favorite crystal goblets in the line of fire. However, _this_ squeak might well have succeeded where her voice, for once, had failed.

Finn blinked, slowly, and sat down. This couldn't relate to college. NYADA wouldn't be sending out acceptance letters for several months. So, what _was_ _this__?_

"I got the Broadway League internship!"

"Oh," said Finn, numbly. "That's great, Rachel." He scratched his head. "Wait, _what_ Broadway League internship?"

Rachel ignored him as she danced in Kurt's arms, lighter than air, skirt twirling like a parasol.

Last summer, he'd held Rachel's hand as the pair of them had walked out of McKinley's faded, rusty doors. They were going to be _the_ couple, and this was going to be _their_ year. Rachel had, of course, always needed to dream and do bigger and brighter than the rest of them, but her ambition was what made her, well, _her_. Time would pass slowly, August stretching beyond them in the distance, humid days so different to chilly damp December mornings with his breath in the air, hanging like a promise in front of him, and if Finn didn't think about it...

"Rachel Berry on the casting couch," said Santana. "Wanky."

"Dude, what's a casting couch?" Finn hissed in Kurt's ear.

Mike shook his head, and looked to Tina. "Don't answer that," they said, simultaneously.

Quinn glanced up from filing her nails into soft points. "So many has-beens to make coffee for. So little time..."

Finn bit his lip. "Is anyone gonna tell me what this is about, or?"

"I'll totally have an in to Andrew Lloyd Webber," said Brittany. "He'll love my revival of _Cats_. It's going to feature _real_ cats."

"When do you leave?" Kurt asked Rachel, a hint of jealousy underpinning his voice.

"June the first!" Rachel said, flicking her hair with pomp and ceremony. "Right after graduation!"

"Where will you stay?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is it... is it large enough for perhaps a visitor?"

Finn looked sideways at his girlfriend. Her eyes sparkled, glittered, glimmered, crinkling with happiness and not one tint of regret. His lip stung and he dug his nails into his palm, silvery crescents marking his skin, not that it mattered, because it couldn't mask the hurt of finding out something so important in _this_ way.

Why was he always the last to know about everything? His stomach was heavy and unsettled, as though he'd swallowed a wasps nest, like that time Puck dared him to drink a whole bottle of Pepto Bismol in eighth grade. He looked at Rachel, again, and Rachel was meeting every pair of eyes apart from his.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me this, Rach!" He said, clenching his hands in his hair. "It's not just _your_ future you're talking about, here!"

Rachel said nothing, or perhaps didn't even hear him through her New York clouded brain, or perhaps because Blaine was bouncing around on the soles of his feet, whispering something in Rachel's ear. Whatever he said only served to turn her smile up another thousand watts, and Finn hadn't seen _that_ smile of hers since Nationals.

Kurt, though. Kurt stood next to him, silent, his presence comforting, and Finn felt his cheeks flush as his brother's comforting hand reached up to pat his shoulder. At least _someone _was on his side, but, still. This was real. This was happening. Finn's Senior year had passed him by in a syncopated blur of rehearsals and parties, and life was revolving around him at breakneck speed bringing with it acceptance, rejection, everything and, in his case... nothing.

000

It felt like an entire lifetime had passed, but it was only two weeks ago he'd spent the night at Rachel's, _with_ Rachel, for the first time.

Afterwards, he'd wrapped her in his arms. "Thank you," he'd said, and cringed. "Was... was that okay? I - it gets better. Not that, I know, because... I've just been told."

Rachel nodded, and reached down for his palm. "It was perfect, Finn," she said, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tightly. They kissed slowly and gently, time on their side for once, and she'd curled into his side and drifted towards sleep while he murmured the words he thought she wanted to hear into her thick, warm hair, which fanned out on the pillow, softer than the satin lacing up her ballet slippers.

_I never stopped believing in you. Nothing will get in the way of your dreams. You don't need to choose; I'll be right there with you, I always will be._

"Just think," Rachel said, sitting up, sweeping invisible patterns in the air with her palms. "This time next year, we'll be in New York together, Finn. Imagine that?"

"I'll never break up with you," he whispered into her ear, feeling her shiver against him. "Never, Rachel. I promise."

"I know," said Rachel. "I love you so much."

"I've don't think I've ever loved anyone more," he replied.

000

"You knew I was leaving, Finn! I am _not_ staying in Ohio. My dreams are _not_ in Ohio!"

"I'm really not part of the equation, huh?" Finn sighed. "Okay. I'll move for you."

Chilly air blew through Rachel's window, and Finn wrapped his arms around his chest as Rachel searched underneath the bedsheets for her underwear.

"You said it would get better!" She said, accusingly.

"What?" He frowned. "Sex? I can't help it, I just get so excited with you, and nervous, and I -"

"No," she said, arms balling fists in her comforter. "The... that's fine. It's this. Us. It's harder now that it's ever been, Finn, and I... I don't want to choose."

"You don't have to choose," he said. "I'll apply to NYU, get my application off by Monday."

"You got a 470 on your Maths SAT, Finn," she said, matter of factly, belaying the fact she _knew_ her words were stinging him like poison ivy. "If you'd just tried that _little_ bit more, let me coach you, we could retake, and I..."

"Me? Why is it always _my_ fault?" he paused, shaking his head. "Kent State would have been a great school for you, for the both of us, Rachel, you said so yourself. Why are you doing this? I thought you said -"

"I never said that I would never break up with _you._"

"I love you," he murmured, because he did, he really did. "Nobody else understands me like you do."

"Sorry," she said, small and scared, "but the problem is that you just don't understand _me_. You say I'm the best girlfriend ever, say it all the time in fact, but you're... you're not the best boyfriend ever, Finn."

"The hell, Rachel! After everything, after all..." His fist slammed into the dry wall behind them, a spray of dust landing on Rachel's pillow. "This just doesn't make sense! I thought you said you we could have it all? I'll reapply! I can transfer, save up, wait tables and fumigate grotty apartments in the Bronx! I'd, I'll – I'd _die_ for you, Rachel! And you give me that 'it's me' crap? That because I can't do it _now_, we can't do it at all? C'mon!"

Rachel couldn't look him in the eye, didn't want him to see her crying, he supposed. "Don't, Finn. I'd appreciate it if you left, now."

Her voice was wobbling, but her gaze steely. Wordlessly, he put his clothes on, slamming the door behind him. He sat in the front seat of his car, face creasing up, trying to cry, but he just_ couldn't_.

Their love was epic, wasn't it? Kurt had said so one evening, over a glass of warm milk, joking that there would always be that tether between them, and he'd write a play about it but the average Broadway male was just so_ short_, and he didn't want Blaine getting that role, didn't want Blaine kissing Rachel again. Hey, maybe the two of _them_ could kiss? Even up the score a little?

He'd known Kurt had been joking, but his gut turned like a cement mixer all the same and he'd merely smiled, because he knew Rachel thought he wasn't New York good, deep down; she'd merely confirmed the fears that had been there all along.

Really, who could blame her?

Rain pelted the roof of his car, and Finn cranked down the window, the rain tumbling through the air, but not washing away any of the ache chilling him to the bone. Turning the key in the ignition, he stuck his arm out, letting the wind and the water lash his skin.

000

Kurt sat down next to him on the couch. "You _think_ you've broken up with her?"

"Well, yeah."

"But you're not sure?"

Finn merely sighed, placing his head in his hands.

"Come here, you big lummox." Kurt paused. "You can't just lounge on the couch watching reruns of _Family Guy_. You haven't been in school for days; don't you think you're just confirming her suspicions?"

"Great. My brother thinks I'm a loser, too."

"No, Finn. Far from it."

"Tomorrow," he said, and meant it. He couldn't help but grin as Kurt let him ruffle his hair for once. "Dude, you feel all crunchy like tostitos."

Kurt glared at him, but his eyes were soft and bright and Finn knew he didn't mean it.

"I can't believe you let me put a honey and oatmeal mask on you."

Finn shrugged and extended his arms. "It kinda made me feel like Bigfoot. So, are you really going to stay with Rachel in New York?"

Kurt curled up against him. "Don't tell Rachel this, but..." He exhaled, the rest of his words exiting far too speedily and unpracticed. "I'm deferring for a year. That way I can save up for NYADA, get some Community Theater under my belt, then Blaine and I can waltz out into the Great White Way together. Kurt and Blaine Anderson - New York's latest, greatest power couple!"

It was as though his world caved in for a second time. Finn knew he had Kurt on his side, wanted Kurt to be happy, knew Kurt deserved to be happy, but for once, it seemed like the puzzle pieces were falling in place for everyone but him. Also, he still didn't know what the Great White Way was, except that it reminded him of a vicious, circling shark snapping at his heels.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked him. "Finn?"

"Nothing," he said, mutely, while any naïve dreams he'd had of walking arm in arm with Rachel Hudson fading fast and inelegant around the edges like a lomographic photograph. "Everything is just fine."

The following day, Kurt shoved his backpack into his hands and all but pushed him out the door, but he managed to make it to school. He avoided Rachel, Rachel avoided him, and he'd had a pretty great day. He'd killed it in the weights room, he'd _nailed_ it in glee club, old school Clapton nonetheless, and, yeah. He could do this.

"Hey, Kurt!" He peered into the living room, frowning, and walked into the kitchen. "You'll never guess what I bench - Kurt? Where are you, man?"

Yet, he froze in his tracks as Kurt stomped into the kitchen, rummaged for a dessert spoon and tub of ice-cream, and flounced upstairs before Finn could even ask him what had happened. His door slammed dramatically, and the strains of musical theater's most infamous (and annoying) out-of-love songs escaped from his room like a twenty-first century Greek chorus.

Finn's heart sunk. He'd known _exactly_ what had happened: a dumping, of epic proportions. If he witnessed any of the guys on the football team behaving in that way, he'd have mocked them gently. Then, a fist bump, a couple of beers, and 'bros before hos', and it would be temporarily forgotten.

But, this was Kurt. Kurt wasn't just another guy on the football team; Kurt was his _closest_ _friend_. Finn grabbed a tube of Magic Shell and a glass of milk and plodded upstairs, hoping Kurt could hear him over the strains of Frank Sinatra.

"It's me. Finn."

Kurt cracked open the door, a shadow of an icy glare visible underneath his ridiculously over-sized sunglasses.

"Who else would it be?" Kurt snorted, his hands on his hips, "Joey Greco?"

"I- can I come in?"

Kurt shook his head. "I'd rather be alone right now. And why did I have to hear it from _Puck_ when you knew? I thought the job of a _family_ was to look out for each other?"

"Knew what? What's happened? Kurt, you're scaring me!" Though, his gut started to sink, because he had an inkling. He'd asked Kurt once, during a late night chat, if he ever had _suspicions_ about the weekends Blaine spent away from Ohio. Kurt just laughed, and said, 'just because you've been cheated on, Finn Hudson', and hit him with a throw pillow. That was that.

"Sebastian." Kurt said, sniffing, and Finn extended his arms to hug him, but Kurt merely waved a hand in his face.

Shit. He thought back to Puck's party. Sebastian, the guy from Dalton, looking like Kurt's evil, coiffed twin from one of the bad daytime soap operas his Mom watched, curled up with Blaine like a pretzel, giggling, which Finn had thought was more than a little insensitive considering Kurt was stuck at home with stomach flu. Finn had raised an eyebrow at the pair, and Blaine had merely reached his hand out for a first bump, asserting that two-player _Spin the Bottle _was _the_ game of 2011.

He'd remembered the conclusions he'd jumped to with Quinn and Sam in Junior year, and besides, what Blaine was doing didn't seem too much like cheating, not more than the rest of what glee club had done since Sophomore year, at any rate.

And Kurt was... different. _Fragile_, underneath all the quiet strength he possessed. Kurt would take it the wrong way, and so Finn decided not to tell him.

Once, he overheard Kurt describing him to one of Blaine's friends from Dalton. "Big heart, but not the sharpest tool in the shed." Quite frankly, it was far easier to ignore his intuition and act like he was expected to, slotting himself into the role they made for him with ease.

'Empire State', Blaine had called him, once.

"One of the seven wonders of the modern world, Blaine? Really now?" Kurt said, with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Nah. All substance and no style."

"That's... that's not nice," Kurt replied, but Finn had heard his suppressed giggle echo down the hallway.

Now, the glass of milk was cool in his hand, burning a chill that pooled down to the ends of his toes.

"I didn't know," said Finn, "I - they were just cuddling! Cuddling like _we_ do after a few drinks. I swear, I – Kurt, let me help. Please?"

"How can _you_ help? He's probably been cheating on me for months," Kurt said, _"months. _We planned our lives around each other. I just... how am I supposed to reconcile the Blaine I knew with _this_? Then again, Finn, it's not like _you_ don't know about cheating."

"I'm not sure how you can get over it," Finn said, though he knew it was a rhetorical question. "Sorry, dude." He closed the door gently behind him. He had eighty pounds on Blaine, easily, and should have just hauled up Blaine by the scruff of his neck, yelling words like _brother_, and _no right_, and _he trusted you_.

Perhaps he should have said, and done, the right things. Forced his way into Kurt's room, and hugged away his tears, but, really, who was he kidding?

He knew well enough from what had happened recently with Rachel that words and actions couldn't heal wounds that easily. He also knew that words weren't his forte. His consonants and vowels tripped over his tongue, his good intentions tangling into something else entirely. This time, he'd made things worse without even having had the opportunity to help, so who knew the damage an actual conversation would cause?

Kurt wanted time, needed time, but Finn just wanted to wrap him up in his arms and wipe his tears away.

000

Then again, Kurt didn't _really_ need him. The clock hadn't even chimed six as Finn wandered downstairs to grab a snack and saw Kurt curled up on the couch, his Mom's arms wrapped tightly around him. Kurt's face was buried into her arm, and he didn't even look up.

"Upstairs, Finn," his Mom told him, gesturing him to help himself to one of the cookies on the coffee table. "He'll need you later, but his friends are coming over; let _them_ comfort him now, okay?"

Of course, when Carole had popped to the bathroom, he'd snuck downstairs as he could feel his stomach rumble in his throat, and he just _had_ to eavesdrop, had to know what Kurt was feeling.

"You have to admit, it's more than a little ironic," said Tina, while Finn pressed his nose against the door. He could all but taste the fumes of the nail polish being applied, making his eyes water like liquid smoke.

"What, Blaine wants me to date one of the stepbrothers we met while duetting at Six Flags? That's not ironic," said Rachel.

"You're right," said Quinn, "it's just pathetic."

"If you want pathetic, look at Finn," said Santana.

"Where is he tonight, anyway?" asked Mercedes.

"Upstairs." Santana said, and Finn just knew she was smirking. "Yeah, we all know he's claiming he's applying to York College via rolling admission. Most likely? Co-Ed Confidential re-runs."

"Ew," said Mercedes, "I can't believe my man Kurt was crushing on him in Junior year."

"No way," gasped Sugar. "Ew! Incesty! Did you know my cousin Dana was in that Co-Ed show?"

"Yes way. _Everyone _loved Finn. He was the most popular guy in the school." Quinn paused. "Looking back, I can't quite see why. He's nice. Affable, but... he doesn't have the biggest heart, and he certainly doesn't have the biggest brain."

"His heart's always in the right place, but..." Tina coughed lightly. "He hasn't really been himself lately. Back in Junior year, he..."

"Tossed Kurt in dumpsters?"

"Took a back seat while Karofsky threatened his life?"

"Stopped the football team making it even worse, Mercedes. Stood up for me when it counted, Santana." Kurt sighed. "He's a… good brother. He even gave up football camp this summer so we could go on a family vacation."

"Finn tasted like mud pies," Brittany said, her voice small and soft, "he was all gooey in the center. It wasn't a turn on."

"And those nipples," said Santana, chuckling. "Like gone-off fudge rounds."

"Blaine used to call him Gloppy." Kurt sounded regretful, and Finn could hear him pacing around the room. "Poor Finn. He thought it was a term of endearment."

Someone whispered something; Finn couldn't hear what.

"What? Oh, get some, Berry! Now _he_ is a guy with some moves!"

"Did you ever tell Finn he broke your toe that one time, Rach?"

"I didn't need to," she replied. "My nose was still healing at the time."

"Uh, what did you see in him again?"

Kurt remained silent on the matter, and Finn? He couldn't take it any more, shrill, critical voices and Kurt's wordless disdain blurring into one wounding lump, and it was enough that he'd lost Rachel, but Kurt seemed to be slipping away from him, too. His mind could fill in the blanks perfectly well enough without knowing what Kurt was about to say and so he chose not to hear it.

It stung. He hadn't given it much thought, but he really _would _lose his best friend if he did go to college next year. Kurt wouldn't always be there for him, bright opal eyes meeting his on a bleary gray morning, nagging him about his dress sense and his hair, but handing him a steaming cup of coffee and a bagel and patting him on the head. He wouldn't always have the comfort of a reassuring hug and a sympathetic ear at the other end of the upstairs hallway.

And since when was Kurt his best friend? In fact, more often than not, it felt like Kurt was his _only_ friend. How had _that_ happened? Why was he seeing bright, blue eyes and an impish, toothy grin whenever he closed his own?

Because, yeah, he'd been _sad_ about Rachel, but that was more due to what losing her meant for him.

Finn retreated upstairs, scrunched up a piece of paper, and tossed it in the air several times. He sat at his desk, and right clicked on his Word document containing his college application, sending it to the recycle bin. He had considered it, briefly, he really had, but... perhaps another year in Ohio, with Kurt, wouldn't be the worst thing in the world?

He emptied his recycle bin and slammed his laptop shut. Good riddance to bad rubbish, or however the saying went. Life would work out for him. It had to, right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The following day, it did.

"Mom! Mom!" Finn's voice was loud and bright as he bounded around the kitchen, footsteps heavy, happiness exploding from his voice like popcorn jumping from a hot pan.

Carole turned to Kurt and raised an eyebrow. "It's not drugs, is it?" She placed her coffee cup down on the kitchen island and reached up to place her palm against Finn's forehead, worry creasing her brow. "Sweetie?"

"No!" Finn paused. "No, it's way better than drugs. Well, I think. I mean, I wouldn't know about drugs or anything, or done them, of course not, but I read in this book Puck gave me about that guy who was in Nirvana, and..."

Kurt snorted. "It's not drugs. Finn can't even take a Tylenol PM without worrying the feds will make him pee in a cup. No. My brother here's been scouted for Buffalo State."

"Oh my God!" Carole sprayed a mouthful of coffee on the floor. "Honey! That's so wonderful!"

Finn rumbled a protest under his breath as his hair was ruffled like feathers, but leaned down to tip his head into the crook of his Mom's shoulder all the same. Kurt said nothing, and merely reached for a square of paper towel, mopping the stain up with angry flicks of his wrist.

"I am so, so, so proud of you. I need a picture, I need a – oh, Finn, your father would have been..." she shook her head and reddened slightly. "_Christopher_ would have been so proud of you, too. Anyway. I'll call your Dad and have him close up the garage early so we can eat at Kewpee tonight." She craned her neck up and pressed a kiss to the top of his forehead, Finn squirming away to open the fridge and grab a snack.

"Wait, Finn. You're _considering_ this?"

"Kurt!" Carole said, her voice suddenly terse when before it sung with joy. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Why would he?" Kurt shook his head. "It's _insane_!"

"What's insane. Kurt? This is a wonderful opportunity for Finn!"

Kurt looked at Carole, disdain dripping from his features like a melting ice sculpture. "No. It isn't. Even I know Buffalo is a lovely city, it truly is, but... it's not renowned for college football."

"It's kinda true, Mom," Finn said, through a bite of apple. "Buffalo are, like, the worst team in Division I. They're bad. Like, that weird orange fake bacon Rachel eats bad."

"Wait," she said, reaching out her arms to draw him into a hug. Finn realized his mother was, and probably always would be, the most intuitive person he knew. "So, I have to ask you, Finn, and please be honest, here. Are you considering this for _you_, or for Rachel?"

"Isn't it obvious? Buffalo's, like, six hours away from New York!"

"Look," Kurt said, sighing sadly. "You know exactly what we mean."

"Would it be so bad, though?" Finn said, licking apple juice from his fingers and hoping his hands wouldn't be too sticky before he placed them in his pockets, because he'd bite his nails to shreds until it stung if he didn't. "It's pretty much a full ride they're offering me. I could quit working in the garage so much, maybe even try out for the play next semester?"

"Do you even know anything about Buffalo other than its poultry products, Finn?"

"Um. I... The bars stay open until 4am?"

"And, Finn?" Carole prompted him. "You will have to live in this city for four years. That's a long time."

"I... there's one of the big lakes up there?"

"How can you be so, so unplanned about your future!" Kurt yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "What do you actually want for yourself, Finn? Have you even thought about what you're going to major in? I -" He paused. "Don't you think you'd be better staying here for another year, and then we can _both_ ensure we don't make mistakes."

"Oh, so now I'm a dropout? When I haven't even dropped _in_ to anything yet?" He felt his eyes begin to twitch. "Flattering. Really flattering."

Carole patted him on the arm. "Finn, please. Listen to your brother before you jump to your own conclusions. You know that is not what he meant. We will love you whatever you choose to do. I love you, and you should be very proud of yourself."

Kurt nodded. "We just don't want you making any rash decisions." He moved to place his arm on Finn's.

"Don't touch me! Either of you!" Bile pooled in his stomach, and he urged Kurt to keep a wide berth with steely eyes, attempting to take a deep breath as his hands began to tremble.

"Please!" Kurt said. "Just listen. Take a couple of days to think this over. Think with your head, for once."

"So last week it was, 'oh, look at Finn, he needs to decide', and then this week it's, 'oh, no, you _can_ be indecisive'. I just don't know where I stand with you! Where do I stand with anyone?" Clenching his hands, he shot Kurt an icy glare before slamming the door behind him.

Running upstairs, he sat on his bed, felt his chest close up and tighten, pressed his hands together until his knuckles turned white, and the tendon in his wrist just wouldn't stop shaking, burning somehow. He had this, this opportunity, and sure, it might not have been _ideal_, but what other choices would he have?

000

Minutes later, Kurt was at his door, his pert nose peeking through the crack in the frame, and Finn idly wondered if his brother was like Pinocchio, if his tiny nose would just grow and grow as he lied; the care felt like a lie, the platitudes felt like lies, because underneath the sheen of support it seemed like even _Kurt_ thought he wasn't going to do any better than this.

But, then again, Finn suspected he wasn't going to do any better than second-string Quarterback at Buffalo State himself.

"Hi," Kurt said, soft but crisp, like a frozen leaf melting in the weak spring sunlight. "I'm sorry, Finn. Can I come in, please?"

Finn nodded, but didn't look up. He felt the bed dip, Kurt's presence beside him, not as comforting as it usually was but warm nonetheless. He held a cup of eggnog in his hand and was thumbing the handle guilty.

"Here," he said, passing Finn the drink, "Carole said she was okay with me, erm, wetting your whistle. Just don't go getting all Chris Crocker on me, you lovable lightweight."

"Leave Finn Hudson alone!" He said, with a fake wail, but looked up at Kurt before taking a sip. "And why are you sorry? I think I just... reacted in that way because there was more than a bit of truth to what you were saying. I mean, I don't see a future for myself in Buffalo. Or in Lima, really, I just... sometimes I don't think I can see a future for myself at all."

Kurt placed his palm on Finn's thigh and squeezed gently. "Because I didn't congratulate you, Finn. Buffalo State might not be perfect, but you really _have_ been working hard this year, with school and football and helping out in the garage. I am truly, truly proud of you, and life's not been kind lately. You deserve some good news."

"But...?"

"Why do you say but?" Kurt removed his hand, tracing patterns in the comforter.

Finn chuckled lightly, and without malice. "I know you too well, dude. There's always a but."

"But, it only hurt to hear so much because you know we're right. Didn't it?"

Finn set his drink down on the carpet, slumped his head into his hands and nodded.

Kurt cleared his throat. "Okay. You need to make decisions, Finn. And I promise you, I will be there for every decision you make, but," he placed his other hand firmly on his shoulder. "Are you contemplating this because your head is telling you it's the right thing to do, or because your heart is telling you it's the right thing to do?"

"Neither."

"What?"

"Neither my head or my heart is telling me it's the right thing to do." He paused. "I think... Maybe if Rachel hears about this she might actually believe she has to fight for _me?_"

"And do you want her to, Finn?"

"I used to think so, Kurt. But now I'm not so sure." He slumped face down on his bed, voice muffled by a pillow. "She certainly thinks I'll fight for _her_, though."

The silence wasn't particularly comforting, but Finn tried to relax as he let Kurt gently pet his hair.

000

The following morning he awoke, rested, calmer, as he walked through the doors for another day of school. What _had_ Kurt put in that eggnog? Calmness washed over him until after third period, when he walked through the hallway and retrieved his phone from his pocket.

His chest dropped like a stone. Kurt's text message was succinct, but said it all: _watch out. Tina's been playing Gossip Girl again_.

Now, Finn didn't talk to Tina, really, and he had no idea about Gossip Girl beyond the brown-haired chick being hot, but Tina seemed to say so little that he doubted she would have been vindictive about anything. Her heart was always pure, but then, news slipped and slid through the McKinley High walls like poisoned honey.

Rachel didn't take too long to confront him.

Or, more accurately, confront his face. It stung with the small outline of Rachel's slap, crisper than the green apples he insisted be kept in the chiller.

He rubbed his cheek, warm against his icy palm. "What the hell was that about, Rachel!"

"You lied to me, Finn."

"What? About what?"

"You," she jabbed him in the chest, enunciating each word with a sharp point of her finger, "lied to me."

Finn was usually one to dawdle to class, clutch the strap on his rucksack and stare at the ceiling before taking a seat with a weary sigh, but as Rachel shouted something after him, words like New York and Buffalo and SAT tripping off her tongue, he was glad for the bell. It rung, loudly, noise and fog and confusion blocking everything out as he walked to Geography class with a fake spring in his step.

"Late again, Hudson?" The teacher shook her head. "I don't suppose you can tell me what the second largest city in New York State is?"

"Duh. New York's not a state, it's a state of mind!" Brittany hissed into his ear.

And didn't Finn know it? It was cold outside, soda cans rustling and ruffling in the wind, and Finn tried to start daydreaming, tried to force his mind into blankness, but it wasn't working.

"Buffalo!" Mike mouthed to him, and Finn smiled gratefully at him, even though he knew the answer, knew more about Buffalo than he had let on.

"Uh. Is it Yonkers? I think?"

The class laughed at him; let them, let Mike Chang play the role of the athlete who could break out of the nice-but-dim stereotype today. Finn knew his brain could make things stick if he really concentrated, if he had something to apply the scraps of knowledge to, but life was just so much easier when those surrounding him didn't expect so much.

000

He waited for Kurt after school, rubbing his palms together before placing them in his pockets. Kurt waltzed out, Rachel in one arm, Blaine in the other. All smiles, as though they were about to march and break in to song and go to see the wizard.

Not that that metaphor was working. Kurt had a heart, and Rachel had a brain. If anyone needed courage, it was probably him.

"Congrats, Bengal!" Blaine said with a wave.

"I haven't decided on _anything_ yet, Blaine!" He said, crossing his arms across his chest.

Rachel smiled, but it didn't appear as though it was directed at him.

"Really?" Blaine made that face, which looked kind on the surface but had an undercurrent of superiority. The face he carried like a badge when he walked into McKinley as a student for the first time, and the face that Finn, though he would never admit it to anybody other than Puck, hated with a hate that he normally kept well under control.

"Yes," he said, lowering his eyes. "I'm considering my options at the moment."

"Blaine! Blaine!" Rachel said, smile bright and open. "Tell him the news!"

"We're..." Finn suspected by the hand-holding, and the shy smiles, and Kurt merely confirmed his suspicions. "Yes. We're back together."

"Isn't it great?" Blaine said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Finn didn't really think that was a cause for celebration, but Kurt shot him a look, a look imbued with a fiery glare that told him not put his over sized foot in it, at least not until they were alone and they could discuss the complexities and foibles of their respective love interests without fear of repercussions.

"I'm happy for you," Finn said, while glowering at Blaine. "Kurt."

"Isn't it wonderful!" Rachel was beaming, the clack of her shoes tapping herself to the beat of her own drum, and Finn really had no idea what she was thinking, smile growing happier and brighter. "You never forget your first love, do you, Finn?"

Finn nodded, even though he was fully aware that Blaine wasn't Kurt's first love. Still. He was happy for Kurt, genuinely so. He wasn't particularly happy for Blaine, but anything that made Kurt smile so widely his face creased up in the corners and his eyes sparkled couldn't be wrong, could it?

_Once a cheater, always a cheater._

No. He had to put his own experiences behind him and let it go. Kurt was the strongest person he knew, and Finn had to trust him to make his own decisions. Just like Rachel had to trust him to make his.

000

Unfortunately, Blaine was staying for dinner that night, so Finn didn't get the chance to talk to Kurt until the following day. He and Kurt didn't share any classes on Wednesdays, and Finn was getting tutored in math at lunch, and he didn't even see Kurt until he walked into glee rehearsal, slightly late, but he shrugged and sat down next to Kurt with a happy sigh. He raised his hand up for a fist bump, and Kurt rolled his eyes but returned it weakly.

"Dude, your scarf has skulls on it. That's cool." He took a deep breath. "Anyway. I have the perfect song. 'That Was Yesterday'. Classic Foreigner, Kurt. It'll be epic."

Then, he came to with a blink, noticing Rachel was clutching the microphone like a lifeline with her tiny hands, beginning to sing a song about thinking twice, and being serious and… he raised an eyebrow. Nothing good could come of this.

"Finn?" Kurt hissed into his ear. "Listen to her. She's singing to you everything she feels, and you're thinking of replying in song? Nothing good can come of this. It'll result in a hotter mess than Ke$ha."

Kurt reached for his hand, and Finn shivered. So much for Sugar's Dad's plan to provide the school with under-floor heating.

"I thought it was getting serious? At least that's what the song's suggesting, right?"

Kurt shook his head.

"Well, what is she trying to prove with this, then?"

"That she wants to get back together with you?"

"Come off it, Kurt. You just want us to go on double dates again."

Yet, meeting Rachel's ever-widening eyes, he gulped. That look, that crazy beautiful look and mouth wobbling open like piano keys as she sung her emotions out, said it all. Even practiced and perfect Rachel could wobble her way through her life sometimes. Though the geometric precision she brought to her daily routine was more efficient than the quickest fast foot restaurant, words could still be difficult for her on occasion.

Though, there was no chance he'd forget the words she said to him when they'd broken up.

Rehearsal soon finished, Kurt making him smile with the promise of spaghetti for dinner that night, and as the room slowly emptied, Rachel immediately tip-toed over. She smoothed down the corners of her circle skirt primly, fingers circling over the twin rhinestone eyes of the gaudy pink appliqué poodle on the bottom right-hand corner. God, even the way Rachel dressed managed to be both practical and crazy at once.

"So. What did you think of my song, Finn?"

"Great, Rachel. But then with you, it's never anything less."

"Great?"

"Well, yeah. Was that a Barbra Streisand one?"

Rachel stepped towards him, and he took a step back, the hard wood of the piano hitting his back, and she was far too close into his personal space but he couldn't retreat any further; she was giving him no choice in the matter.

"No, Finn. It was Celine Dion. And, can you be honest with me? What did you _really_ think?"

He scratched his head. "Um…" Sure, he knew. How could anybody _not_, but he wanted to hear the words from Rachel, had to hear her say them.

"Please, Finn. Even you can comprehend the metaphor."

"What do you mean, '_even me'_?"

Rachel ignored him and looked to the ground before allowing him to meet her leaking eyes. "My everything depends on you, Finn."

He wiped away a slow tear from her tanned cheeks with the pad of his thumb. He hated seeing her cry, hated seeing _anyone _cry, but this was the same person who had said he didn't get her, wasn't the world's best boyfriend, and if he couldn't be good for her, then why did she want him in the first place? How could somebody change their mind that much within two weeks, because it certainly sounded like she'd meant it.

"Can you fight for me? For _us_? Don't go to Buffalo. Come to New York, Finn. Please. I want you with me, even if you are fumigating apartments, or wiping down tables. It doesn't matter."

"No, Rachel," he said. "If I move to New York, it's gotta be for me. And I have to figure out myself before I can even start to think about figuring out what's left between us."

"But Finn, I –? What's _left_ between us? But, what about the tether?"

Finn couldn't deny that it would always be the three of them. Him, Kurt, and Rachel. His found family and his forced family, tangled up like a box kite. But then, he was just so connected to Kurt, too, and being tethered to someone didn't necessarily have to be romantic. Kurt had said so, himself, the first time Finn had expressed his concerns about it.

Finn kissed Rachel on her mouth, gently, chastely, and then broke away, licking his dry lips. "You know what?"

"What, Finn?" She was whispering now, and Finn felt himself break out in a cold sweat.

"A piece of me will always, always be ripped off without you, but..." He fiddled nervously with the strap of his backpack and forced himself to meet her eyes again. "But, Rachel. You rip it off, time, and time, and time again even when you're _there_."

There. He'd done it. He'd made a decision. Rachel's flowing tears cut through him like a guillotine, and reminded him exactly why he left decision-making to others.

"Rachel," he said, drawing her into a hug. "I will always, always be on the other end of that invisible rope for you. I will always love you, but... I'm not saying no, but give me some time to think about this. To think about everything."

"I know you'll change your mind," she said, purposefully, before flashing him a shy smile through her tear-streaked face and turning on her heel.

Rachel really was an appalling actress at times, her composure breaking apart at the seams and not matching the steely tone of her voice. He watched the ghost of her shadow walk away, leaving him alone in the choir room. He checked his phone, and took a deep breath, composing _himself_ for the drive home, smiling at Kurt's text message.

_Grabbed steaks to go with the pasta. I'll even let you watch that awful Jennifer's Body DVD you seem so fond of_.

_Trade you Labyrinth_ _for a back rub_?

_Why, Finn Hudson. It's a date. ;-)_

His stomach flipped, and he tingled. It was like licking a battery or sipping a cup of burning hot coffee, and Finn _knew_ that feeling, exactly what it meant. He didn't want to think about it. He'd let himself think about Rachel, and school, and college, but he wasn't going to think about what _that_ meant.

He was just stressed; overwhelmed. Of _course_ he'd react that way, because Kurt was showing him unconditional kindness and care. It meant nothing but friendship, and closeness, and being there for each other, and seeing that spark in Kurt's eyes he loved so much. Of being able to sit down and empathise with someone who knew that having too many choices was just as bad as having none at all.

Plus, Sam's weight-lifting advice had been awesome, but he ached in placed he hadn't known existed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Rough day at the farm, Cowboy?"

Finn sighed, tossing his bag and jacket on the couch with more satisfaction than the gesture should have afforded him. "Uh huh," he said, every muscle in his body tensing up like meat that had been fried on too hot a heat. "Massage before goblins, dude?"

Picking up Finn's backpack, Kurt shook his head and walked over to the coat rack to hang it in its rightful place. "Growing pains. Again?"

"Hardly," Finn replied with a snort. "Have _you_ ever tried to bench press your own weight?"

"No," Kurt said. "But then my weight _is_ substantially less than yours."

"Hey!"

"Sorry." Kurt patted him on the shoulder, ignoring Finn's wince. "It's not a criticism. The Titans would be even less victorious if they had a quarterback with _my_ physique. I'll grab some provisions and get those tense muscles back in their proper places, hm?"

Rushing upstairs, Finn flashed Kurt a grateful smile from over his shoulder. "Cool. I'm stiffer than a surfboard, man."

Scaling the stairs two steps at a time, he reached his hand out for the light switch, fumbled for his iPod, connected it to his speakers and then dimmed the lights before flopping face first on his bed. Should he remove his shirt? Perhaps that would be less awkward than having to remove it in front of Kurt, or perhaps he could keep it on, but...

An over the clothes rub just simply wouldn't cut it for him, because, good_ god_, he ached. He stood up, shrugged his shirt from his shoulders and removed his t-shirt, balling it in his hands. He scrunched up the fabric, a satisfyingly crisp ball in his hands, and paused as he felt Kurt's presence in the doorway.

"This isn't a brothel, Finn," Kurt said, shaking his head, an arch of arm clinging to his hip. He took in Finn's puzzled expression, and swiftly turned the lighting back up.

Finn frowned and squinted as his eyes attempted to adjust to the glare of far too many watts. "I just wanted to relax, dude!"

Kurt quirked an eyebrow up. "To _My Chemical Romance_?"

"This isn't _My Chemical Romance_! It's _Coheed and Cambria_!"

"Can we change it? The drumming is so heavy it's tensing up _my_ shoulders."

"_Cream_?" Finn sighed, the cool air from the window peppering his neck, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up in a bizarre salute to Ohio's cold, unpleasant winters.

"What? Didn't you say this _wasn't_ a brothel?"

"No!" He blushed. "No, I meant the _band_."

"Oh," Kurt nodded. "Alright, then."

"Put my 60s playlist on," Finn replied, with a hopeful look; Kurt really had to have been feeling sorry for him if he'd acquiesce to that request, but Kurt said nothing and merely fiddled with the iPod dock. Hey, his nipples were hardening in the icy glaze of a breeze which drifted through the crack in the window, standing up like clothes pegs against his chest, and it was more than a little painful. He was feeling sorry for himself, too, in more ways than one.

"Shall we?" Kurt said, motioning to the bed. "Do you need a towel?"

"Nah," Finn replied, settling down and placing a pillow under his chin. "These sheets are, like, four weeks late to be washed anyway. But aren't you gonna take off _your_ clothes?"

"Charming." Kurt knelt down next to him, breath warm against his ear, but removed his cardigan, leaving him in a thin, white undershirt. He gingerly patted Finn's shoulder. "I'm going to hang this up before it wrinkles and fetch a hand towel. I'll be back in a moment."

As Kurt left the room, Finn allowed the music to wash over him, but then felt his cheeks burn up.

_I'll soon be with you my love,  
>To give you my dawn surprise.<em>

'Dawn surprise'? Holy crap. No wonder _Sunshine of Your Love_ was Puck's go-to make-out song. He should have let Kurt choose the music, for once; at least his bizarre Broadway falsetto songs didn't refer to morning wood.

Thankfully, Kurt soon returned to him, and seemed completely oblivious to the innuendo.

Finn wasn't taking any chances, though. "Can... can you turn the music off?"

Kurt complied, and then begun to rub the massage bar between his hands, the slap and slick of his hands echoing through the room with a clap. As Kurt walked closer to the bed, Finn felt phantom hands ghost over his skin and arched his back up, anticipating, waiting for relief.

"Rachel never did this for me," he said, voice muffled by his pillow.

"Rachel never gave you a massage?"

"Nah," he paused. "She was worried I'd," he blushed. "Well. You know." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Get a little too _excited_ if you catch my drift."

Kurt ignored Finn's lusty groan as warm palms dug deeply into his coiled springs of shoulders. "Excited? With her tiny pitbull claws digging in? That seems... infeasible."

Breathing deeply, trying to relax, Finn realised that Kurt did have a point. If anyone needed an excuse to pummel the crap out of him under the pretence of 'foreplay', it would have been Rachel Berry. Tentative she might have been, but gentle she was certainly not. And the less said about Santana and Quinn, the better.

"Relax, Finn." Kurt said, reading his mind. "Don't think about girls right now."

"Okay," he exhaled. "Oh, what's in that? Smells awesome. Like, Old Spice, but, like, new spice, all sexy and stuff.."

"Vanilla, ginger, a little black pepper oil." Kurt's hands were rubbing circles, and he felt the tension dissipate down to his toes. "It's called 'hottie'."

"What? Oh _God_ this isn't..."

"No, no! It is _not_ that kind of massage bar. Lush have these absolutely ridiculous names for all their products. Anyway; the other one in my parcel was called 'ego'. We can't have you getting the wrong idea, hm?"

"Wrong idea?" Finn frowned into his pillow, was that a slight, or... what other sort of wrong idea did Kurt think he might be getting?

Kurt said nothing, and merely rubbed a slick hand across his back, Finn groaning happily at the contact.

"And to think two years ago you freaked when I swiped a wet wipe across your face."

"That was a -"

"No." Kurt said, softly. "We're not going to talk about that again, and we've both crossed some lines we shouldn't have. Turn over?"

"Nah, I'm good," he replied, as Kurt rubbed small circles along the planes of his back, thumbing the dimples just above the waistband of his boxers. "Oh, that's awesome. You have, like, Harry Potter hands."

"Working my magic, hm?" Kurt said, leaning down, the tip of his nose brushing softly against the back of Finn's neck. At Finn's happy sigh, his tiny nose rubbed the spot, that spot which just melted him like a puddle of butter, Kurt's thumb sweeping circles on his back once, twice, and his body shook in spite of itself. This was... going beyond the realms of good.

"Uh-huh," he groaned.

"Turn around, Finn. Please? I know you're aching _all_ over."

"No, it's..." He paused. Had Kurt really said what he thought he'd just said? "I just..."

"Come on, T-rex. Ninety percent of the McKinley student body have seen more than this, and _I'm_ not about to sign up for counseling."

Finn worked on a reply, but his throat was drier than Death Valley. Was Kurt coming _on to him_?

"And, no, you do not need a manziere, or sport salami nipples, or have devilled eggs on your chest, or anything of the sort, so don't even start with that. You're honestly not _that_ hideous."

Finn shuddered with relief. It was relief, and nothing more. He knew guys didn't much compliment other guys, even gay guys, but 'not that hideous' wasn't exactly something one said when one wanted to get into the other's pants, at least according to the movies he claimed not to watch.

"I... don't buy it, but thanks, dude."

"Buy it, don't buy it, but shut up. Relax those flailing limbs of yours for once, Finn Hudson. You've earned this."

Finn turned over, and Kurt's hands were gentle across his torso, almost reverent, and Finn counted to five, holding each breath before exhaling, concentrating on nothing but the rise and fall of his chest.

"You have some big choices, but it's down to you, Finn," he said.

"You'll help me though, though, right?"

"Of course I will," Kurt smiled gently, running his fingers down the side of Finn's chest. "What else are brothers for?"

Probably not for giving each other massages which melted the recipient from head to toe; that probably wasn't in the brotherly handbook, and Finn was so glad he was wearing tighter pants than usual that day. He wasn't hard, not at all, knew it was highly unlikely in this situation because with Kurt, there was always a tiny part of his body which held back before slipping and sliding into complete relaxation, and _was_ there a brotherly handbook?

His feelings couldn't have been anything to do with Kurt. It could have been anybody doing this to him, really, but nobody else would touch him, had touched him, with the sole intent of making _him_ feel good. He'd been used, by others, to make _them_ feel good, and even fleeting, hesitant, scared Rachel had seemed like she wanted to possess her claim on him, digging her fingernails into his shoulders and keeping her eyes wide open, but this was different. Nice. He usually kept his eyes open when Kurt did this, but they were squeezed tightly, because the act just felt intimate, and, and... different.

He couldn't figure out why that was the case; perhaps it was Kurt's leg, holding him in place, giving him no polite choice other than to just stay put and _feel_.

"So," Kurt said, punctuated by his pattering fingertips drifting down the line of Finn's stomach. "Rachel still wants you two to get back together?"

Finn nodded. "Yeah. She does. It's winter break soon, and it'll be so nice not to have to see her for a while. She just... God, Kurt. She's great, you know she is, but, she." He paused, feeling utterly guilty. "She just messes with my head! Fight for me; don't fight for me. Stay, or go, or... I just don't know how much of this I can take."

"Hm?"

"Yeah, Kurt. Hm indeed. I'm just. Yeah. I think I'm tired of fighting. For, for her, I mean."

Opening his eyes, Finn met deep, messy puddles of gray and Kurt's face, usually so intense, looked slightly distracted. He was biting his lip, and his hands hovered above Finn's chest, less sure of themselves.

"Well, Finn." He frowned. "Love never runs smoothly, and we always have to fight for what we want. Sadly, life's not like the movies."

If he _dared_ make this about Rachel or Blaine right now, Finn realized he was just one muscle twitch away from crying out in anguish. He took a deep breath; it was time to test the waters, metaphorically, at least.

"Yeah, Kurt." He said, his voice catching in his throat. "But I'm not sure if _she's_ what I want, anymore."

Kurt sat up on his heels, furrows appearing like lined paper on his creased forehead. "Think wisely, Finn, before you give up on her completely. Nobody finds their true love when they're eighteen, after all."

"That's an insane thing for _you_ to say." Finn paused, looking at Kurt, hoping he would guide this in the direction Finn wanted him to. "You and Blaine are skipping through the hallways, like, like, that _Sound of Music_ thing you're so fond of, and you're telling me you two don't..."

"Well..." Kurt said, looking away from Finn's eyes.

"Have you, Kurt? Found love? I thought you and Blaine, you two were, are..."

A pale hand reached out to his chest again, and Finn couldn't help but shudder as Kurt leaned forward to whisper in his ear, prickling heat over his whole body. "Ssh. You always think too much, Finn. Just relax for me."

Finn sat up, pushing Kurt backwards. "Hey! You didn't answer me. And it _is_ important." He whispered under his breath. "_You're_ important."

Kurt hesitated for what felt like hours, cross-legged and his eyes searching Finn's face for, well, something, he couldn't quite articulate what. "Yes. Blaine makes me feel important, but, I... I... I honestly don't know."

"You're planning your life around him, though. Why else would you have taken him back after what he did to you? Does... does he make you happy, Kurt? Do you love him?"

Kurt hesitated again, but nodded, close to tears and Finn just wanted to lean up and wrap him tightly in his arms, but then realized his chest was covered in oil, and Kurt might have been affectionate with him, even encouraged it, but he would not forgive _that_ getting on his undershirt. The urge was just overwhelming, though, so he sat on his hands instead.

"But you can't say the words to me, can you? How can you honestly say them to _him_."

"I..."

Finn couldn't remember the last time Kurt sounded so quiet, and so unsure, and his voice was usually like music to his ears but now it was small, and quiet, and lacking that glorious fire and emotion that _his_ Kurt possessed in spades.

"Do you h_onestly_ love him? Kurt? Talk to me, bro."

Kurt shook his head, eyes shimmering, though Finn knew he wouldn't see Kurt crying over this, even though Kurt was trying to make a Hollywood romance out of something which wasn't entirely what he wanted, and it just made his heart clench in his chest and anger cloud his mind, because he had seen that sparkle in Kurt's eyes, and the spring in his step. Well, admittedly, it had been a while, but was what happened between him and Blaine all just a lie?

"So, don't you think you deserve something more than that, Kurt?"

"There's... no, Finn. Not yet. But I care about him, and I trust him, and he honestly loves _me_, and I'm not about to fight for something else when there is someone perfectly adequate in front of me." He lowered his voice. "Not that there is anything, or anyone, else to fight for, though."

Finn tilted Kurt's head towards him. "You are worth so, so much more than _perfectly adequate_."

"Th-," Kurt threw himself into Finn's chest without so much as a warning. "Thank you, Finn."

And Kurt _was_. Finn had no idea what being the only out, gay guy at school was like; he never would, but all he wanted was for Kurt to be happy, to protect him from the world as much as he could, to have his back, and he'd fought for Rachel back in Junior year because he loved her _so much_ and Kurt just took Blaine back because he was _there_? Because he couldn't see himself having any other options?

Finn felt his breath speed up, misting over his face. Was letting his brother, already confused and conflicted about his relationship with his somewhat annoying but clearly devoted boyfriend, massage him the best idea? Of _course_ it was. Kurt had opened up to him, really opened up to him, even though a nagging part of his conscience spoke up to let him know that Blaine would punch him and fling him into the lockers like a frisbee if he had even an inkling of what they were doing at the moment. Then again, there was nothing suspicious about brothers being close; it was what they _did_, and Blaine Anderson could suck it.

Oh, God, that was a bad turn of phrase, too. Not Kurt. It. Whatever it might be, but wasn't that what the phrase meant? Thinking about it, oh God, it totally did, and why couldn't his brain just shut up, and stop thinking, and go back to relaxing against the pooling warmth of Kurt's hands, and care?

"Ssh. Everything's going to be okay," Kurt said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Finn's forehead, sweeping away his running thoughts with a soft brush of his lips. "You and Rachel. Blaine and I. You'll see. Have some faith in yourself. We'll chat about this later, I promise. Just relax for now."

"Yeah," he said, quietly, reclining back on to the bed. He raised his arms behind his head, shut his eyes tightly and let waves of relaxation swim over his body, allow his blood to settle wherever the hell it wanted to settle. It flushed his cheeks, blanketing him with warmth, and he clenched his hands into the sheets with a grateful sigh.

"Yeah, Kurt. We'll talk. And, yeah. It is down to me, but it's down to you, too." He paused. "You know I'm not Blaine's biggest fan -"

Kurt snorted. "Understatement of the millennium."

"-but doesn't he deserve to have the chance to find someone who _can_ love him back?"

Awkward silence filled the room, and Finn wished he hadn't said what was on his mind, but it was hard to keep quiet when Kurt's current, and future, happiness was on the line. They were lucky to have each other, that was certain, but Finn soon realized the problem.

Before, he had wanted to sweep Kurt in his arms and drum into Blaine that so, so much trust was being placed into his showy, over-enthusiastic hands. And, now, he wondered more than idly whether Blaine knew Kurt as well as _he_ did. That, all along, he'd assumed that it was Blaine who was along for the ride, when in fact it was Kurt who was using him as a placeholder for something better.

Or perhaps Blaine _did_ know, and Sebastian was merely Blaine's awkward way of allowing Kurt a get-out clause.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Later that evening, guilt wrapped itself around Finn's body, fluttering and shaking him like a flag in the wind, turning him inside then out, and he couldn't sleep. He'd showered until the tips of his fingers were puckered, but his bath robe was itchy and distracting against his skin. As it was barely past eleven, and he knew Kurt would still be awake, he decided to seek out some company. Breathing deeply, he knocked on his brother's door with his customary three slow, sharp taps.

"One moment," Kurt said, then opened the door with a lazy nod.

Finn took in the sight; Kurt's skin glimmered, slippery with whichever part of his _routine_ Finn had interrupted, and his hair was swept away from his damp forehead with a toweling headband. Wearing soft, light blue pajamas, he looked so much younger and more vulnerable than he had mere hours earlier.

Plenty of thoughts ran through Finn's mind, but it was hard to sort them through, so he batted them down, like the heavy crush of furniture against plush carpet, and decided to simply talk instead.

"Kurt," he said, gently. "There's... there's something I don't understand. If..." He took a deep breath. "Why did you _really_ get back together with him?"

Kurt sighed, resignation washing over his features. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No!" Finn said, before lowering his voice. "It's not, not to me. I mean, didn't you say the cheating had been going on, for, for _weeks_?"

"Yes, about that, I..." Kurt's face paled with what appeared to be shame. "It was just one occasion. Blaine was incredibly inebriated, and we full well know what sort of decisions he makes when _that_ occurs. Anyway. He has since made it clear where his heart truly lies."

"But Kurt," Finn replied, firmly, walking past the threshold to sit on Kurt's bed. "What would you say to me if _Rachel_ went and made out with another dude behind _my_ back?" Pausing, he fumbled for the mug of hot cocoa on Kurt's desk and took a healthy sip. "Again," he muttered, under his breath.

Finn flinched as he watched Kurt rub his face with deep, hard circles, sinking his moisturizer into his skin.

"Well, Finn." Kurt sat down next to him, crossing his legs primly at the ankle. "That's... different."

"Why? Why is it different?"

"Because you have other options!" He said, his cheeks coloring. "Does it look like _I_ have any other options?"

Kurt had said the same thing mere hours earlier, and it cut through Finn again to see Kurt so quiet, so passive, and so resigned to his lot in life. Briefly, he knitted his eyebrows together at the thought of what High School would have been like for him if he were gay. He knew he would have had it far, far easier than Kurt; knew his Mom would have been equally proud of him as Burt was of Kurt, knew that being tall, athletic and liable to fight with both fists _and_ words would have helped.

Then again, he just... couldn't fathom it. Even thinking about it made his head whirl about like that weird Dreidel thing Rachel and her two Dads spun during Hannukah, and, like that weird Jewish spinning top, each direction showed him a jumbled, messy image he just didn't understand, and no, there was no way he could ever know what it was like. Even if, well, he _did_ end up liking a guy one day, it could not begin to compare to what Kurt received on a daily basis, and yet, Kurt took everything on his tipped, held-up-high chin.

Thinking about it was horrible, making him feel guilt for Kurt and hate for himself, for what _he_ had said and done, or not done, for Kurt, so again, Finn let his words take over.

"Last year, when I told you about backing off from Sam, you said..."

Kurt merely sighed. "That was before I knew what having a boyfriend was like. What... what it was like to have someone who _knew_, to walk hand in hand with me and face the adversity by my side."

"But, Blaine's..." All Finn could do was shake his head. "That isn't fair, dude!"

It wasn't. Kurt thought his life was _better_ now, by virtue of not being tossed into cafeteria waste each day, and having a boyfriend who he liked, who was adequate, because his life was so tough it was better to have an adequate option than no option at all.

Kurt sighed again, his mouth turning up, then tipping downwards. "It's not fair, is it, Finn?"

Suddenly, tempered by the lack of impulse control which usually led him down paths that weren't the wisest routes, Finn had an idea. "Oh, hey! There's that gay bar uptown!"

"No." Kurt was empathic, punctuating each word with a shake of his index finger. "No, no, no."

"Well, why not? We could head there together? Cut loose a little?"

Kurt's eyes blazed with icy fire. "Finn. I am not going to 'cut loose'. I am not a cheater. I have no intention of cheating on Blaine. And, in my book, dancing with another guy, with intent? That's cheating, too. How could you even, even suggest that I -"

"But -"

Kurt raised his fingertip, gently sweeping it across the curve of Finn's lips. "No buts. Not now."

"Kurt!" He said, bracing his hands against his brother's chest. "Don't _do_ that! I'm... sensitive there. From, from..."

"Windchill?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Finn sighed with relief and licked his lips reflexively. "Uh, that."

"Hm. Oh! You need to get yourself some chap stick! Go with the green tea mint. Manly, yet delicious."

Scrunching a hand in his hair, Finn blinked, knowing he was more than useless at this kind of thing, but... he would be dancing with Kurt _without _intent. He _had_ danced with Kurt; it was one of his favorite memories from Junior year, seeing the swell of pride on his Mom's face, and Kurt's waving grin, and Burt's back slap and an unspoken acknowledgment that, yes, he was one of the family. They _all_ were. Family.

Yet. The idea of dancing with Kurt again was so appealing, and the fact he never got the chance to stand up and do it in front of everyone was one of his many regrets of his actions at Junior Prom. He took a deep breath, the ghost of Kurt's fingertips still echoing across his lips with a faint tingle.

Finn felt dishonesty clench his stomach; he suspected there might be another reason why he was so eager to show how _open_ he was with Kurt.

"I would never, _ever_ encourage you to cheat on your boyfriend, but... perhaps you might get some, uh, _interest_? Realize you're not short of options?"

Kurt stood up and walked over to the door, shooting Finn a look which suggested he wanted to slam the door in his face.

"I'm _not_ you, Finn. And I'm not a charity case. What next, make me don that hideous _Hair_ wig again and be the starring feature in Senior Year's kissing booth extravaganza? Hey, I hear Michelle in the chess club needs a new wrist support for her carpal tunnel. Perhaps I could raise that much money with my, my gassy baby penguin face. You think, Finn. You _think_?"

Words tripped off Finn's tongue far, far too quickly in response. "I'll dance with you."

"And, he's treating me as a charity case again!" Kurt said, with an angry shake of his head. "Forget it. Even if I _were_ inclined to cheat, we both know you would never be comfortable in a gay bar, Finn."

Flinching, Finn stood up and moved to wrap his arm around Kurt but paused, mid arm-stretch. Great going, offer to take your brother to a gay bar as a gesture of goodwill, and manage to stutter your words out like an idiot and end up making him feel even _worse_ about his physical appearance and apparent lack of options.

"So," he said, changing the subject as quickly as possible, hoping to redeem himself in Kurt's eyes as quickly as he could. "Guess what! I actually _have _been thinking about my future."

"Oh?" Still in his bitch mode, Kurt was examining his cuticles and refusing to meet Finn's eyes. "Of course. It's all about _you_, isn't it?"

Finn pointedly ignored him and walked over to Kurt's desk, fiddling with a pencil, twirling it between his hands before dropping it. "Yeah. I looked online, and turns out I might get a scholarship to Kent State."

"Footballers," Kurt said, with a snort.

"It's nothing to do with football!"

"And an academic scholarship? Please. Your GPA is..."

"Kurt! Will you just let me finish!"

"Fine!"

"Okay, so, the oil company Mom's worked for, for like, forever, offers a scholarship for guys who are, like, leaders in sports and clubs, and that's me, right? Ms. Pillsbury told me about it, and you only need a GPA of, like, 2.8. I think I'm gonna give it a shot."

Kurt threw his hands up in the air. "Why does nobody offer _me_ a scholarship?" Despite his shorter height, he still managed to stare Finn down with angry, wide eyes, reminiscent of a galaxy about to go supernova. "What do _I_ need to do. God, I work so much harder than you, Rachel works harder than the pair of us put together, and..."

It was taking all of Finn's self-control not to shake Kurt by the shoulders and yell at him. "Will you just calm the hell down! It's partial. I'm gonna have to keep saving up, and get a part-time job on campus, but I can do this. Can't you... isn't this what you wanted? You know I didn't want to go to Buffalo, or, or end up packing urinal cakes in New York. Can't you be happy for me?"

It took him a moment to realize Kurt's eyes were watery, and his brother was trying his hardest not to cry. "Why do _you_ always get what you want? Why is life always so easy for _you_?"

He drew Kurt into a hug, and to his relief, Kurt melted into his arms.

"It's not. It's not a sure thing... I don't have a 2.8 GPA, dude. I've been busting my ass this year, and I've barely got it up to 2.5"

"Sorry," Kurt said. "I know you've been working harder than ever before. Perhaps Blaine could help tutor you? US History is one of your worst subjects, and there's not much Blaine can't recount about President McKinley's assassination. He really can be... quite macabre, at times."

"McKinley was a _president_?" Finn laughed as Kurt's mouth gaped open in shock. "Kidding, dude. Oh my _god, _I wish I could have filmed your look. That was priceless."

Kurt laughed. "So... what do you think you would major in?"

"Don't..." He paused, looking down into the relaxing blue of Kurt's pajama pants, thinking of oceans, and calm to forget how angry Kurt had been mere seconds earlier; Finn knew he could flare up again without warning, something the two of them had in common. "Don't laugh at me. You know my friend Sean?"

"The quadriplegic?"

"Yeah," Finn nodded. "Though he's never been _that guy_ to me. We had a chat last week, and I'm kind of leaning to an Associates in physical therapy."

"I'd never laugh at you, Finn. Well, not when you're being serious for once, you big dork. But, why physical therapy?"

"Well, you know how I wanna help people?" Kurt nodded, and Finn continued. "Well, seems like this way I can, but you know I don't trust myself to open my mouth, dude. Plus, I have always been good at hands-on stuff."

"Isn't the campus in Ashtabula?"

"It's only four hours away. Also, they hosted FinnFestUSA a few years back. It's, like, made for me."

"How did you find that out?"

"Wikipedia, dude. It's awesome. Oh! Oh, and it's mentioned in a Dylan song, and in that book I'm reading, _On the Road_, so it must be cultured and stuff for such a small town, right?"

Kurt quirked an eyebrow at him. "You read?"

"Yeah! Um, not always what I should be reading for school, but… It'll be fishing, and Lake Erie, and you know how I love the water, and it's just... cool. I think... I think I've found my place."

Kurt frowned at him. "So staying here in Lima is a no go?"

Finn nodded. The idea of staying with Kurt, another year of the two of them, was _so_ tempting, almost too tempting, but then Blaine was always going to be around, snapping at his heels. Then again, Blaine was Kurt's boyfriend, and he had every _right_ to be snapping at his heels, and possibly doing a lot more than that.

"Hey. I'd visit on, like, alternate weekends. Anyway. Let's talk about you, man. You really think Blaine would stay at McKinley without you there next year? That commute must be_ killing_ him."

"He said he transferred for me," Kurt paused. "That he couldn't stand to be apart from the one he loved. Really, I think there was that, but I also suspect he transferred because he had something to prove."

Finn nodded again, but couldn't understand what Blaine had to prove. If people accused _him_ of having a charmed life, well. They hadn't met Blaine Anderson.

"The Warblers, though, well. They would welcome him back with wide open arms. And song. I talked to Wes and David on Skype the other day, and they don't know what to do without him; they said it was, well, akin to a flock of Sylvia Plaths struggling their way out of the bell jar."

"But isn't Sebastian...?"

Kurt scoffed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Contrary to opinions you might hold, Dalton is _not_ a gay Hogwarts. Sebastian's charms are lost on the heterosexual, teenage male, believe me."

"Noted," Finn replied. "Blaine's charms are lost on _me_. I'm sure he does have charms, though. Maybe... maybe I should be kinder to him?"

Smiling, Kurt rubbed Finn's back with warm circles. "That would be a start, Finn."

"You're gonna kill me for asking this, but have you two... you know, yet?"

"Nearly." Kurt shook his head. "He's not ready."

Finn didn't want to ponder what 'nearly' meant. "And you _are_?"

"We are not having this conversation. Ever."

"So that's a yes?"

"Finn Hudson!" He squeaked. "That is _non_e of your business."

Finn nodded, relaxing into Kurt's touch again. "Just remember, Kurt, if you don't have that connection, it..." He paused. "It doesn't feel right. Didn't feel right to me, but, when you do..."

Kurt smiled. "Sometimes, and only sometimes, you can make so much sense." Then, his smile vanished. "I don't want to... take that step until I'm sure it's love, though. And I'm not entirely sure I know what love is, yet."

"Perhaps you need someone to show you?"

"Oh, you did _not_ just say that. Really. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you imbuing our lady chats with _Foreigner_ lyrics. But, yes, so he's my only option. But that doesn't mean I'm just going to jump into _bed _with him because he's there."

Finn nodded. He had so many regrets about that night, no, evening, no... hour with Santana, complete with some greasy burger and layers of shame that sickened him to the stomach, and he was so glad that Kurt wasn't going to let pressure and hormones and self-doubt get the better of him, so glad that Kurt would wait, that he knew he _did_ matter.

"Blaine isn't your only option," he whispered, softly, against the curve of Kurt's neck.

Kurt shook his head. "Not again, Finn. Please."

"Blaine is not your only option," Finn repeated. "You are fierce, and wonderful, Kurt. You could break up, hold that head up high, until someone who _does_ show you what love is comes along." He paused. "Or... look him, honestly, in the eye, and tell him that _you_ only have a year, and if he wants to explore other options, he can."

"No, Finn. I -"

"You're... I just don't get why everyone fawns over Blaine, when you're just..."

"Just what, Finn?"

"Well, you dress much better for a start. He looks like Urkle in those bow ties."

"Do you... Finn. Do you think he's better looking than me?"

"Is there any way to answer that question without freaking you out?"

Kurt snorted. "No. No _homo_, I get it. No, I get it. I'm never going to be some, some show tune lothario or..."

"What's a lothario? It sounds... dirty."

"Ruthless seducer of women. Or, er, men, I suppose."

"Oh, like Puck?"

"Finn." Kurt paused, changing the subject. "I have to ask you something. Can you answer it honestly?"

"Uh, sure," Finn replied, his pulse speeding up. "You know you can ask me anything."

"Yesterday, before I left school, Blaine, he... he asked me, and I quote, 'what's with the way Finn's looking at you these days.'" Kurt paused. "Care to enlighten me?"

Finn's heart sped up, hammering in his chest like a hummingbird's fluttering wings. "What? _What_ _way_?"

"Blaine told me he knew that look, this... he said he'd never seen anyone look at me with such, such care and protection."

Finn breathed a sigh of relied. "Oh, _that_. Yeah. I'm just looking out for you, man. I'm happy that people are noticing."

Kurt's squeak, and his clutching arms, practically knocked Finn off his feet. "You are the best, best brother I could have ever hoped for, and," he paused, "this... means more to me than I ever thought it would."

Then, Kurt began breathing more slowly and tipped his head up slightly, eyes so bright, so close that only a millimeter of air hung between the pair of them. Finn could feel the clouds of breath from Kurt's mouth warm his face, the berry scent of his moisturizer creeping up his nose and he realized they were breathing together, slowly, steadily, and Finn gulped, having to avert his gaze, and Kurt's pajamas were so thin that he could feel the fast pound of his brother's heartbeat through the fabric. He looked down, saw the thin, dark hairs running the line of his chest through the gap in the pearly white buttons, and guiltily looked up again.

Oh. God.

With a slow smile, Kurt tipped his head up again, the tip of his nose touching Finn's, and this was just too, too much, too, too soon. In a split second, Finn knew what he had to do, and nudged the cup of cocoa on the desk with his fingertips, spilling it to the ground.

"Finn!" Kurt immediately raised a hand to his forehead with a heavy slap before turning his head around to survey the damage. "You...!"

"Oh, would you look at that," Finn said, trying to force surprise into his voice. "Clumsy me, huh? Better go get some stuff to clean it up."

"Clumsy..." Kurt trailed off, eyes downcast, and Finn knew whatever moment they'd created had probably been lost forever. That was for the best, right? "Clumsy old you."

000_  
><em>

_"I want you to show me," Kurt said, his voice low and deep. "I want you to show me what love is."_

_"But I... I don't know what love is," he heard himself reply, disconnected, floating around him like a heavy gray cloud._

_"Show me, then," Kurt whispered, trailing his lips across his cheek, scratching against the stubble like the needle against a vinyl record. "Show me, Finn."_

_"I... I don't think I can, I..."_

_"Ssh," was the reply, fuzzy and slow, silky and fading fast around the edges, as soft fingers dipped below the waistband of his underwear, and... "Ssh," he said, Finn feeling himself arch off the bed, and..._

He awoke with a start, his hand still in his underwear, bed sheets glued to his body like saran wrap, remnants of ache and want pooling all over his body. No. No, no, no. This could not be happening. What was _this_, anyway? This, he had to admit, must have been about Rachel. He really didn't want her back, at least he didn't think so, so what was happening? Without Rachel's tiny, warm body in his arms, was his brain just projecting the _want_ and the _hormones_ onto the nearest person who was showing him kindness and care?

One wet dream did _not_ mean he was gay, or liked guys, or, or... liked Kurt. One desperate, searching wet dream didn't mean _anything_. Sex ed had taught him that much, but... jealousy, and anger, and shame and fear all whirled around him, to a level he hadn't felt since Jesse's smug face had returned at the end of Junior year.

Finn squirmed, lifting the bedsheet from his body with the hand that wasn't, well, _there_, and glancing down at his underwear with disgust.

What made it even worse was that, unlike Rachel who would always welcome him back somehow, Kurt had clearly moved on. He didn't have any of _those_ feelings for him any more, and he'd only ever been in love with the idea of him, not the reality. He'd be turned down, politely, gently, even if he _did_ ever try something. And then, Rachel would know; she always did, and Blaine would know, and he would be the laughing stock of glee club, of the entire school, of all of _Lima_. And, oh God, what would his Mom think? What would _Burt_ do to him?

Finn wiped his hand on the fitted sheet, pulled the tangle of bed sheets under his chin, then grabbed a pillow and pushed it over his head, hoping it would muffle his thoughts as much as it muffled his breath, but knew sleep would elude him that night. The moment they all knew what was going on in his mind, his life would be over, and Finn wasn't going to let that happen. Life for him, at the moment, was difficult enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Six twenty five, and the incessant beeping of Finn's alarm clock drilled his brain with shrill nausea, each beep punctuating his heavy, pounding heartbeats. Another nightmare, Rachel's bright eyes and fierce face, but it hadn't been about _Kurt_ this time, yet, that... that _thing_ with Kurt, mere hours ago had etched itself onto his brain like a tattoo. It hadn't exactly been a nightmare, and that was almost worse.

_God_, he needed to wash his sheets; wash the memories away with each chug and spin of the machine. Yawning, he extended his heavy legs, curled his toes, took a deep breath and then stood up, clumsily balling up the sheets and sweeping them into his shaking arms. The house was still, eerily still, which was good, because he could sneak downstairs without repercussion hitting him like a freight train.

He nudged the door open with his elbow, and smiled to himself, padding downstairs to the utility room as softly as he could, focusing on nothing but staying quiet, as he dumped the sheets in the laundry hamper.

"Oh! You're up early today. I'm soaking my delicates, but I shouldn't be too long."

Fantastic. He felt the smile wipe itself cleanly off his face, not wanting to think about Kurt's _delicates_, or indeed, Kurt, who was standing in front of him, hair mussed, stretching sleepily with his pajama top riding up, exposing the dust of sandy hair which stood out against his pale, pale stomach. His nose crinkled in that adorable way of his, and Finn groaned softly as he felt the shame, and anger, and shreds of unwanted _want_ spread across his cheeks with a fierce blush.

He couldn't face Kurt, couldn't look him in the eye, not now, maybe not _ever_, and he had to get away, fast.

"Yeah," he said. "Was gonna throw these in then go on a run. State semi-finals are coming up."

"You? Get up before seven, do chores and _exercise_?" Kurt shook his head. "Hell hath truly frozen over."

"Shut up," Finn groused, and walked into the kitchen, the strong smell of coffee wafting temptingly under his nose. Kurt followed him, to his dismay.

"But... if you're aiming for Kent State, shouldn't you be focusing your energy on your academics rather than football?"

"Can't let the team down, man." He scrunched a hand through his hair and yawned messily. "This is like, The Game."

Kurt's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Football's a game? There was me thinking it was a sport."

"No, _The_ Game. Like the Buckeyes and..."

"Whatever. _Boys, _eh? At least have your coffee first," Kurt said, concern crawling through his voice as he thrust a steaming mug into Finn's hands. "Friends don't let friends run uncaffeinated."

"Friends_,"_ Finn echoed, ashamed that his voice was underpinned with an unhealthy bitterness, the word frazzling the tip of his tongue like the sip of slightly-too-hot coffee he'd just consumed. Some friend he was being to Kurt right now. He had to pull himself together.

000

He set off on his run at eleven minutes past seven, the icy calm in the air and the brightening sky not matching his mind, which refused to wake up. Ice shimmered on the ground like the glaze covering a cheap donut, and he was glad, grateful for that, had to concentrate on where his feet hit, had to concentrate to save his thoughts creeping back to Kurt with every step. It was ironic, he realized, as his body thudded and crunched against the gravel path and he entered McKinley's car park. Only yesterday, he had hoped and wished to bump into Kurt in the crowded hallways, a quiet, happy surprise to intersperse his dull classes with. Today? Well. They shared several classes and the idea of Kurt whispering jokes in his ear as he usually did made his blood run cold.

His incredibly sophisticated plan was to feign a stomach ache and wrap himself up into such a small ball of fake pain he could hide out in the nurse's office even longer than _Puck_ could manage.

Entering school, he changed clothes in the locker room, decided not to shower, grateful the chill in the air had caused his hair to dampen and curl against the nape of his neck, then tugged his hands through his sweaty mess of hair several times, completing his façade of ill health. He knocked on the door of the nurse's office with less trepidation than he should have done; this was hardly new territory, after all.

"Ah, Finn Hudson," the nurse said, with immediate recognition. "What can I do for you _this _time? Is it Legionnaire's Disease? Malaria? Lupus? An ovarian cyst?"

"N-no, ma'am. I...I... think there was something in the cavatini."

"Mm hm? Something that didn't affect the several hundred other students eating it for lunch yesterday afternoon?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his stomach, attempting to work the lopsided smile, work the charm. "I guess my system's just sensitive that way."

Sympathy washed over her features as she patted his arm gingerly. "Well, sit down, then, dear. You _do_ look a little pale." She passed him some ginger ale and one of those delicious, orange-flavored glucose tablets without further comment, and he was so grateful to Puck. He really _had_ learned from the best.

000

The day passed quickly, and though Finn could have sunk his tired body into the comically undersized bed in the nurse's office all day, guilt nagged at him like he was tugging on a loose thread. He'd checked his phone, and Mr. Schue had called an impromptu meeting at lunch that day. With Sectionals just around the corner, Finn needed to be there, in body, at least, if not in spirit. He couldn't screw _that_ up. He owed it to the club, to Rachel, and to _himself_.

Walking out of the nurse's office, he clutched the straps of his bag tightly enough to whiten his knuckles, then opened the door to the choir room, only to find his senses immediately barraged by an eyeful and an earful of _Blaine_.

"I'm just stating the facts as I see them, Mr. Schue," Blaine said, calmly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "We cannot have Finn and Rachel duetting on _Everything I Do_."

Finn sat down next to Mike and saw Kurt raise his hand. Blaine nodded, and Kurt spoke with delicacy. "Finn, you're a _very_ strong vocalist, but you have been rather emotional lately. Perhaps Puck or Rory could take your part?"

Rachel didn't bother to raise her hand before interjecting. "Yes, that's fine, but the very notion of _anyone_ but me singing that part is preposterous. To suggest that I cannot put my strong, strong emotions and utter heartbreak aside for the sake of competition is absurd, and to change our duet this late in the game is tantamount to show choir suicide!"

Blaine nodded. "I agree!"

It wasn't too difficult to read between the lines with Rachel, because Finn knew she wanted yet another chance to sing out their feelings together, wanted New Directions to win, certainly, but wanted the duet for her own personal gain, too.

"No, Rachel," Finn said, voice colored with more than a little ire. "You're not the _only_ one who can put their _strong_,_ strong_ emotions aside."

Mr. Schue sighed, a hint of expectation underlying the resignation in his voice, like he'd known events would turn out like this but hoped and prayed to which ever deity he believed in they wouldn't. "Well, guys. What do you suggest we do?"

"We should have auditions," Mike said. "Give everyone a shot at being leading man."

Finn watched Mr. Schue write the word 'auditions' on the board, probably biting his lip as he wrote each letter; his teacher's usual tactic for when he didn't quite know what to else to say or do. He turned around, a false smile plastered over his face. "Great idea, Mike!"

Tina raised an eyebrow. "And why is nobody complaining about _female_ soloists, Mr. Schue?"

Of course, nobody bothered to reply; Mercedes wasn't around any more, and Santana and Brittany's pinkie fingers were linked and the pair didn't even look up. Finn would normally stand up for someone whose voice wasn't being heard, but he knew Tina's bark was louder than her bite, and when push came to shove, Rachel knew Tina wouldn't stand in her way, so there wasn't any point. He had to pick his battles wisely, now.

Finn took a deep breath. He _was_ going to fight for Rachel, wasn't he? Yeah. Raising his hand tentatively, he looked at Mr. Schue. "Um... so. There's something I've wanted to sing for a while. I guess I've... maybe not shown I've been leading man material lately, so... yeah."

"Okay, Finn. Take it away."

Rustling in his bag, he handed the sheet music to Brad, who rolled his eyes at him. Finn took a deep breath as the opening notes flooded the room.

"Oh!" Rachel said, excitedly, clutching the hem of her skirt between her fingertips. "He's doing '_I Want to Know What Love Is'_!"

Then, he stared at his feet, determined not to make eye contact with Rachel, or Kurt, or anyone. He forced out a smirk, trying to remind himself of how many times he'd sung this in a too-long shower, trying to feel confident, trying to sound clear. He tried to convince himself he'd got this in the bag, but, halfway through, he looked up. Between Rachel's arched eyebrow and Kurt's wide open mouth, he faltered, the words unwilling and unable to leave his mouth, the ground all but swallowing him whole.

"_I've got nowhere left to hide_," he sung, taking a deep breath. "_It looks like love has... has..._"

"Finn?" Mr. Schue prompted. "Is anything the matter?"

"I... I..." He dashed back to his seat. "I'm sorry. I just... can't. I... I think I forgot the words. Pre-stage fright!"

Santana stood up. "Perhaps you'd know what love _was_ if the female population of McKinley didn't know about your little _problem_." She faced the rest of the club. "I know what makes girls weak in the knees, and sixty seconds with Finn Hudson ain't it."

Finn looked at the ground, clenched and unclenched his hands, tried to let the words empty themselves of hurt and wash over him, but he couldn't help but bind them to the negative thoughts rolling through his head. He waited for Rachel to speak up and defend him, glancing towards her, but she was looking up at the ceiling, brow creased in thought.

"That was..." Kurt paused. "Perhaps you could transpose it into a different key, Finn?"

"There was a fair bit of caterwauling," said Blaine. "Not in a bad way, well, okay, maybe in a bad way, but I think -"

_Nobody cares what you think_, Finn's brain screamed at him, but he pressed that thought down. Blaine hadn't said anything inaccurate, after all, and he had told Kurt only yesterday he'd make more of an effort to be nice.

Brittany looked at Finn with a gentle smile. "That was special," she said, her expression a mix of sympathy and awe, "I haven't heard those noises since Lord Tubbington was spayed."

"Neutered, Britt. Male cats are neutered." Santana patted her on the arm affectionately. "Though sounds like kitten season will soon be on us if we unleash _that_ at Sectionals."

Tina and Mike looked up from their chained hands and shot him a look of sympathy, but it didn't matter. Finn knew he wasn't the reluctant thread holding together a glee club of misfit toys any more. They'd grown up, and could hold themselves together more adequately on their own than they could with him at the helm. And, moreover, they weren't afraid to let him know.

"All of you! Stop it!" Kurt said, making Finn's eyes jump to attention. "Santana. And, _Blaine__, _I didn't expect this from you. You are not going to be judging this, so please could you just let Finn _be_ for once."

God, his eyes were just so, so bright, and his smile laden with sympathy. And what had prompted _that _defensive outburst? They hadn't been particularly vicious. Well, no more so than usual.

"Kurt?" Blaine stood up. "What's going on? Sectionals is important, it's... we can't be playing around, with, with high-pitched soft rock. This is show choir! It's time to give someone else a shot! You all agree with me, don't you?"

"Blaine," Kurt said. Everyone's eyes turned to look at him, at which point Finn fixed his own eyes on the cracks in the floor. "I know you want _me_ to sing the solo, but please push your personal opinions aside. Without Finn's song at Nationals, we would have finished in an even more humiliating position, and you are crossing a line that I don't particularly want to see crossed."

"Yeah!" Finn said, raising his hands. "Kurt's gonna let the judge be the judge of," he gesticulated wildly in the air with his fingertips. "This."

Blaine stood up, drumming his hands on the back of a chair with anger. "Can't you see what's going on with him? Don't you see how he's playing you, Kurt?"

"_Playing_ me? Grow up! I'm standing up for my brother. For my _friend_. Why don't you go back and cozy on up to Sebastian if you want a lapdog?"

Santana raised her hand. "Mr. Schue. If _I _may? This duet isn't our only problem; there are clearly other issues at play here, and how are we supposed to perform a mash-up of _Stand by Me_ and _I Saw Her Standing There_ when Kurt and his overly-gelled Jerz Pud are..."

"Okay, Santana. So. _Let's Hear it for the Boy_?" Kurt was clearly attempting to change the subject. "That could work as a duet."

"Hardly," Blaine replied. "I don't think _Footloose _is..."

"Really? Then what about _Let's Make Believe We're in Love_," Finn replied, through clenched teeth. "Do you think _that_ might work, Blaine?"

Tina spoke up. "That's really quite offensive, Finn."

Finn agreed with a slight nod, and wished he hadn't said it, but taking it back would do even _more_ harm.

"_Holding Out for a Hero_?" Rachel said, tersely, shooting him an icy glare.

"And you're no better, Rachel," Tina replied.

Though, Blaine was already on his feet, anger surrounding him like the mid-December mist outside. "What did you mean, 'let's make believe we're in love'. Finn? Kurt? What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on, Blaine! Wait!" Kurt exclaimed, but he made no move to get up and reassure his boyfriend.

Blaine said nothing, clearly expecting to be followed, but Kurt remained rooted to his spot and Finn watched as Blaine merely gathered his satchel, swept down his hair with his fingertips, and left the choir room with a flounce, slamming the door behind him. Much more effective than Rachel's storm-outs, and only second to Mercedes', Finn realized. There was something to be said about the silent treatment.

"With a little help from my friends..." Brittany muttered.

"Yeah," Finn shook his head. "And Blaine and Rachel can share lead vocals on _that _one."

"That's it! That's perfect!" Mr. Schue's hands clapped together, like some sort of over-enthusiastic seal begging for treats. "I think we've just found our group number!"

"Sarcasm is lost on you, butt chin," Santana mumbled.

"I wasn't being sarcastic," Brittany said, twirling her hair around her index finger, voice sad and soft. "Finn's not happy, and he really needs help. From his friends."

Finn moved his palm across the chair, reaching out to give Brittany's arm a friendly tap, but Rachel reached over and grabbed his arm tightly, instead. "Let them squabble, Finn. Come on. We have Sectionals to prepare for; you can't get caught up in these schoolboy shenanigans."

"Good going, brothers Grimm," Santana shook her head. "There go any chances we might have had of winning Sectionals. Then again," she shot a look to Kurt, "I guess we squandered our chances of that when Jack begun climbing up _your_ Beanstalk."

Kurt's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Well, I don't see you and Brittany fighting for solos!"

"Oh, someone seems a little tense. You seem a little... frustrated, lately. Frodo not letting you destroy his _ring_?"

"Santana!" Finn's voice echoed around the room. He pointed his finger at her, meeting her nefarious eyes. "Don't you dare, _dare_ speak to Kurt like that."

"Or _what_?" She raised her hands in a gesture which suggested she wasn't going to admit defeat. "Defensive, much? Looks like Finn here's hiding something, too."

"You don't know half as much as you think you do, Santana." Kurt replied. "Nobody's hiding _anything_."

Mike shook his head. "And there was me, using show choir to _wind down_. I'm out. Tina?"

"I'm with him," she said, linking her arms with his before they strolled away.

"Me too," Puck replied. "I'm off to _actually _get someone's panties in a bunch."

000

Before long, the room's occupants filtered out, Mr. Schue the last to leave as he gave Finn a weak tap on the shoulder that merely felt like an empty promise. Rachel was waiting for him outside the door, and Finn did his best to push past her.

"Leave me alone!"

"No!" Rachel braced her hands against his chest, pleading him to listen. "You've been avoiding me all week, Finn. Please can we talk?"

"I... I really don't have much to say to you right now, Rachel. You could have spoken up for me back there!"

"Really, Finn?" She said, face twisting up in anger. "And after all the times you've spoken up for _me_?"

"That's unfair, Rach, and you know it. I have always, _always_ supported and defended you. Now, let me past?"

"Finn," she said, composed, as though she'd practiced her speech in front of the mirror thousands of times, which he likely suspected she had. "You do realize, if you walk away from me now, you will not get another chance, I assure you."

"What do you mean, _another chance_?"

"Well," she said, flicking her hair dramatically. "_Quinn_ might have welcomed you back in her arms again, but I'm not going to let my feelings for you jeopardize my future. I am giving you one last chance, Finn. Out of the kindness of my heart."

He looked at Rachel. Really, really looked. Beneath it all, she could really be cruel, really hit his Achilles heel because she knew him so well, too well, well enough to build him up and break him down in one sweep. Lost in his thoughts, Finn didn't have the time to compose a reply before Rachel continued her tirade.

"Quinn won't welcome you back. Santana's not going to sleep with you to, to bolster your popularity. _Nobody_ is. I'm the only one that can love you, Finn. Without me, without Kurt, who else do you have? You wanted us to be honest with each other? That is the most honest thing that I could ever say to you."

"Leave!" He said boldly, every single fear bubbling up to the surface, feeling like a spider trapped under a glass.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"Leave me the _hell _alone. You have no idea what I've been going through lately."

"I do, Finn. I do. I know _more_ than you think I do, I know just what you..."

"No!" He banged the side of a nearby locker, making her flinch; and he hated that, hated when she was on edge around him. Did she really think he would, or could, ever physically hurt her? Well, intentionally. Unintentionally was another story. He stepped back, folding his arms in front of him, and took a deep breath. "There is no possible way you can know."

Because, if Rachel _did_ know he was having these... feelings for Kurt, it would have broken her as _well_ as him. With a heavy heart, he realized Rachel would blame herself for it. He couldn't hurt her intentionally, physically or otherwise, irrespective of how much she would set out to hurt _him_, and that just made this whole situation with Kurt even harder to deal with.

"Of course I know," she said with a sniff. "Football or New York. It has to be tough on you, Finn, but in New York you'll have _me_ by your side; isn't that all you ever wanted?"

But, was Rachel really so self-centered that she still thought his dilemma was fully to do with _her_? "No, Rach, there's... there's something else going on. There's, there's something else I want. And I'm not going to Buffalo _or_ moving to New York next year."

"Oh?"

"I... I wanna go to Kent State."

"What? I _believed_ in you, Finn. I thought you were a _leader_, but I never thought you'd be a, a Lima loser, because leaders, Finn, leaders don't..."

"I'm not a leader, or so people tell me, because I think glee club's made _that much_ clear. And the football team? Well. Coach leads them, not me. So, you don't get to break me down with that this time, Rachel, because it's nothing I haven't figured out for myself. I can recognize what a loser I am, and Kent State's not even _in_ Lima, so don't you go throwing that in my face, either."

"Jesse always..."

"Jesse _what_?" His voice sounded snide to his own ears as it echoed around the hallway. "That college drop-out's just as much of a loser as I am, and you know what? He's not going to take you back, either."

"You were my first option! Always, Finn. It's not _my_ fault that you can't work hard to achieve something so you can put _me_ first for once."

"I _am_ working hard!" He paused. "And I'm not spending four years of my life in New York just for you."

Rachel was crying now, watery, messy sobs, one of the few times the emotions in her tears matched the emotions in her voice. "I never thought you could be so cruel. I never thought you'd just, just give _up_ on us like this. Well, Finn. I have _nothing _more to say to you today, and sometimes I wonder what on earth I ever saw in you." She smoothed down her skirt. "Perhaps you'll listen this time, because..."

"Oh, you think I can _listen_, now?"

"Quite likely not," she said, clipped, measured, the words dipping softly from her tongue but fading fast into anger. "Or we'd _both_ be completing our applications for NYADA right now. At least Kurt can be relied upon."

"I don't _want_ to go to NYADA. I don't _want_ to be a performer. I don't even want to be a _footballer_. And you're wrong, Rachel, because Kurt's not..." He slapped a hand to his forehead. "Shit."

"Kurt's not _what_, Finn? Finn?"

His stomach dropped, as he willed his heavy head to raise itself, willed himself to look genuine and not as though he'd placed his large, clown-like foot in it again. "_Nothing, _Kurt's... Maybe you should stop assuming things and ask him yourself, Rachel. Um, I... I gotta go."

"Finn! Wait!" She called out after him, but for once, he decided it was in his best interests not to look back.

000

Walking outside, he couldn't help but smile. Kurt was perched against the railings, checking his phone, sipping from a bottle of Vitamin Water, clearly waiting for him.

"Hi!" Kurt said, looking up and waving at him with his eyes. "Did you and Rachel kiss and make up?"

Finn shook his head. He knew that, feelings for Kurt aside, things were truly over with Rachel, now. Of course, he still hurt. Even broken up, he thought of her more often than not. Those songs, _their_ songs on most of his iTunes playlists, the stale taste of the vegan mints she insisted he freshen his breath with before they made out, the times he'd fidget with his tie to ensure he didn't wolf his dinner down while she picked at hers delicately, sparrow-like in comparison to his wide, lusty mouthfuls.

He sighed. There were so many, too many, mundane memories. The ones they didn't write songs about, or include in the movies, and how could it hurt so much when it was only his head that thought fighting for her would be a good idea? His heart missed her, but honestly, he didn't want her back at all. None of the good memories were bubbling to the surface, and that was probably a sign, too.

" I still love her, Kurt, but the things she says to me... the things she just _said_ to me... they cut deep Kurt."

"I know," said Kurt, pocketing his phone and patting him on the shoulder. "Oh, boy, do I know. As much as I like her, don't think I haven't been on the receiving end of Yente's outbursts in _my_ time."

Then, he noticed Kurt's eyes were flanked with crimson rims and circled dark with worry, like he hadn't slept, but he'd looked so bright and alert earlier.

"Dude, what's wrong? Have you been crying?"

Kurt rubbed his eyes. "No. I'm just a bit tired, Finn. I haven't been sleeping well lately, and Blaine and I... exchanged a few words after we left the choir room."

"Oh. I'm... sorry to hear that."

"Yeah," Kurt said, sniffing a little, "thank you."

Finn just hugged him, tightly, breathing in his scent, not caring who saw him, knowing they both needed the comfort. The look in Kurt's eyes as he did so was so gentle, and so kind, and reminded Finn of _those_ memories.

_Those_ days felt like a lifetime ago. Kurt's compliments on how Finn saw the world so _innocently_ and that time he overheard Kurt telling Mercedes that he'd give up his skincare regime for a _month_ if he could have even one kiss, and how shivers dipped over his body that time Finn had placed the helmet on his head and he'd not washed his hair for two whole days, and then there was that time he thought the football team had finished showering after practice and, oh 'Cedes, he's _definitely_ proportional.

And now, Kurt barely spoke to Mercedes, and _that_ helmet was in a sealed box gathering dust for the first time Finn could remember. Life really did move on.

And, Kurt had moved on, too.

Kurt looked from side to side, then swept his fingertips up, gently brushing them along Finn's lips, interrupting his thoughts.

"What the..." Finn said, voice drying in his throat, Kurt was so close, and...

"Just seeing if you still need new chapstick," Kurt said, softly.

"It seems like the whole world has it in for us sometimes, huh, Kurt?"

"I don't," he replied. "You have a lot to offer, Finn," said Kurt. "You have a bigger heart than anyone I know."

Could Kurt ever like him like _that_ again? He'd moved on to Blaine, but maybe Blaine could move on to Sebastian like Rachel had moved on to New York, and maybe everything could change? Perhaps Rachel was right, and she _was_ the only one who could love him like that.

"Girls aren't attracted to big _hearts_," Finn said, with a snort. "Seems like nobody is."

"You're wrong, Finn. You're much more than what's inside your chest." Kurt moved behind him and was rubbing his back, easing the tension, and Finn melted into his touch. "You just need to be honest. Show the world who you really are. Stop playing someone else's part, and people will love you for _you_."

"You know something?" Finn said, leaning back into his brother's chest. "Never met a girl who's quite like you."

"You probably never will," Kurt mumbled against the back of his neck, his breath warm, and he didn't want to think about what August would bring, not now, not ever, not until it rolled around. The warmth of Kurt's breath was just tingling down his body, and there was no way any part of him could deny what he was feeling. But, even if he could swallow his pride, and put everything on the line, it had taken him this long to get Kurt to open up to him, to be comfortable. To be his _brother_.

Still. He _did _need some time to forget the difficulties life was throwing at him with the one person who actually seemed to be on his side.

"We need to hang out. After school, just... you know. Just the two of us guys."

"I concur," Kurt said, turning around to look deeply into his eyes. "With _West Side Story_ and football and you working in the garage, this year has been too busy. We haven't made as much time for each other as I'd like."

"Cool. Bowling? The movies? Ice skating?"

"No. You know what, Finn?" Kurt patted him on the arm. "I need to get to class, but I overheard Dad saying he and Carole are off to Michigan this weekend, and... Blaine hasn't replied to my apology texts, might not do as he told me he's visiting his grandparents this weekend, and I am probably going to regret this, but I actually think I'm ready to brave that infernal gay bar."

"Let's do it," Finn repeated, still feeling the weight of Kurt's palm against his clothed skin, and blushed, clenching his fist and raising it towards Kurt with a nod. "I mean, let's... go to the bar, dude. Show 'em what we're made of. Nobody messes with team Furt, yeah?"

"Team Furt," Kurt replied, bumping his fist so weakly it was barely perceptible. "But, do you... do you really think that this is a good idea, the best idea, for the both of us?"

"Yeah!" He nodded, trying to muster the enthusiasm. "It's gonna be a blast, dude."

Inside, though. Inside, his heart hammered with this terrible, horrible, frightening feeling, and yet he couldn't deny that a large part of him wanted to leap for joy, because he was also more than a little exhilarated by the prospect of him and Kurt being together in a place far away from Rachel, and Blaine, and everyone else's prying eyes and ears.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

It was gone eleven when Finn stormed through the front door like a hurricane, tossing his bag on the floor and grunting as he let his heavy limbs sink into the couch. The lounge was dusky, imbued with a heavy, beige darkness which matched his mood. Sighing, he met the glimmer of Kurt's questioning eyes.

"We lost," he muttered.

Kurt looked up from his magazine, eyes soft and gray with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Finn. I know how important this game was to you. What... what happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Well. It wasn't much of a game," he said, angrily. "I... um. Remember when I lost my playbook a few weeks back? I, uh. Well. Guess they found it."

Biting back a bitter laugh, Kurt stood up. "Oh, Finn," was all he could say. "Whatever will we do with you?"

Finn slapped his hand to his forehead. "I screwed up, Kurt. Again. I tried to... play it by ear, think of things, but... the team wouldn't listen, said I wasn't a leader, said I was..." He tried to return Kurt's gentle smile. "I kinda got mad at them, kicked the cooler, wound up soaking the water boy, and..."

He didn't even finish his sentence before Kurt was at his side, lightly thumbing the streak of mud on his cheekbone. "Ssh," he said. "It'll be okay, Finn. It'll be okay. I mean, the Titans have done far worse _without _subterfuge playing into things, after all."

Finn snorted. "Thanks, dude. I suppose they have, huh? But still, they're all gonna blame _me_."

"Unfortunately," Kurt said, sweeping him into a hug.

"I am so glad Mom wasn't there," he said, leaning into the comfort of Kurt's touch. "I... I totally lost it."

God, he was going to make the most of the weekend, because he could all but taste the slushy rainbow the Monday morning quarterbacks would assault him with. The icy blast of that, combined with the coldness of the words he knew would be written on his locker: 'cheap shot', 'touchdont', 'fumbler'. Actually, he was giving McKinley High's neanderthals far too much credit. It was far more likely to be 'butt pirate' or 'sausage jockey'. Or 'Hard-On'. One could always rely on the hockey jerks' formidable wordplay.

He remembered his Middle School nickname: _the shark_. He'd assumed it would follow him through to High School, but, well. That optimistic precognition of his High School life, like many others, had never happened.

Patting Kurt on the shoulder, Finn stood up. "I'm... I'm gonna shower. I didn't after the game, just wanted to hightail it home and head to bed, but..." He gestured towards his feet. "I feel so, so gross and cold with the ice, and the Gatorade and stuff."

Kurt shook his head. "I can imagine. Would you like some company?"

"In the _shower_, dude? Really?" He blushed. "I don't think that's... I mean, our shower's kinda small, and..."

"No, you dork! You can barely fit yourself in there!" Kurt was laughing, and Finn couldn't help but feel slightly more optimistic when he heard Kurt laugh like that. "_After_ the shower! After!"

"Aw, shucks," he waggled his eyebrows at Kurt. "You don't wanna help get me all clean?"

Okay, that was possibly _too_ far, but really, if he wanted to paint a picture in Kurt's mind of him showering off the grease and dirt? Well. Kurt didn't have to take the bait, did he?

Kurt's cheeks were slightly flushed, as he extended a hand to check Finn's forehead for... something. Finn wasn't entirely sure what. "What has _possessed_ your brain? Zombies? Did those hooligans give you concussion, or...?"

"No!" Finn said, squirming away from the warmth of Kurt's palm. "It was just a joke, man. And, yeah. Thanks for the offer, but it's best if I just take a bit of time to think things over on my own tonight, yeah?"

"I... yeah," Kurt said, nodding. "Me too. Blaine's been a little… distant, and he's not replying to my texts, and I need to think some things through as well. Goodnight, Finn!"

Finn thought back to what had happened in the choir room on Thursday, and realized that Blaine had only stormed off after Kurt had challenged his opinion. His opinion on Finn's... vocal skills. Really, it was a little self-centered to admit it, but it was almost as though they had been fighting over _him_. Huh. Not that he would bring that up to Kurt, or Blaine, in a million years.

"Night," he replied, waving weakly, his heart not quite in it, and turned off the lights before following Kurt upstairs.

Walking into his room, he sat in his chair, and smoothed his fingers over the familiar, welcoming, cool plastic of his X-Box controller. Yeah, his shower could wait; he was going to release the tension old school, _Orcs Must Die!_ style. It genuinely didn't make life that much better, but at least killing inanimate lives distracted him from the mess of his own.

000

"Where have _you_ been all day?" Finn asked Kurt the following evening, although judging by the overflow of colorful bags in Kurt's hands, the answer was obvious.

"Outlet Mall with Tina and Mercedes," he replied.

Mercedes? That wasn't a name Finn had heard in their house for a while. "You guys patched things up?"

"Not really," Kurt replied. "I still disagree with her reticence to swallow her pride and come back to the _better_ glee club, but Tina and I noticed she'd only been hanging out with Shane lately, and thought we'd bestow some of our fabulous company on her to save her from being one of _those_ girls."

"Oh! So. Why didn't you invite me, dude?"

Kurt merely rolled his eyes and walked past him into the kitchen, returning with a soda for himself, and a pack of pringles which he tossed to Finn.

"So, Finn. Where do you think we should go tonight, then?"

"Asgard?" Finn replied through a mouthful of chips.

"What?"

"Asgard? Like in _Thor? _I, oh. Never mind. I was trying to be funny. No, I thought we were doing the gay bar tonight?"

"Oh, yes." Kurt scratched his head, a fair deal of trepidation creeping through his voice. "That."

"C'mon!" Finn said, worried that he seemed far more excited about the prospect of an evening in a gay bar than his gay brother did. "Let's order some take out and work out our plan. Team Furt, remember?"

Kurt handed him a take out menu with no further comment.

000

A heated discussion had ensued over their pizza. (Hawaiian for himself, cheeseless for Kurt, and Finn had _no_ idea how you could even call that pizza, but, whatever.)

_Which _gay bar. And, _where?_ Kurt knew of one in Lima, but it was far too close to Mr. Ryerson's cat-walking route for comfort, and Finn didn't know what a pink dagger _was_, but Kurt assured him it wasn't something he would find in any Marvel comic, and he certainly didn't want to be poked by it. It was also perilously close to both Mr. Schue's condo and the hospital where Santana volunteered as a candystriper, so, no.

Finn, proud of his research skills, had located a bar in Dayton. Even if that particular search meant he would have to get Kurt to show him how to delete his browser history again, because what if his Mom found _that_, and the rest of his... history? Well. In any case, it was hardly a logical choice, but then again, there was nothing in the sentence 'I'm going to a gay bar with Kurt' which struck him as logical, so Finn had decided to let whimsy guide their adventure, instead.

Soon, he found himself full of nerves, sat with his head in his hands in the front seat of Kurt's car. Sighing, he opened and closed the glove compartment repeatedly, for want of something, anything to do with his hands.

"I see you ignored my instructions of 'dress to impress'," Kurt said, wryly. Having Kurt behind the wheel was fortuitous, because Finn realized he had spent so much of the journey tugging at his hair and biting his fingernails to the quick that he couldn't have concentrated on the road if his life depended on it.

Finn glanced at Kurt, whose eyes were, thankfully, on the road. "Hey!" He said, fiddling with the dial. "I'm trying!"

"Not hard enough," Kurt muttered.

Kurt was, true to form, trying _more than _hard enough for the pair of them. He was wearing dark blue, pleated shorts that came just below his knee. A light blue shirt, which clung to him like a second skin, white suspenders, and a gold brooch of some sort of bird thing completed the look.

Looking down at his... ensemble, Finn was more than a little embarrassed. He hadn't completely understood Kurt's instructions. Usually, dressing to impress entailed a suit of some description, but he never felt particularly comfortable in those and didn't want to lose a deposit on tux rental due to said tux picking up smoke and booze fumes. There was his father's old suit, but he didn't feel he would do the memory of Christopher Hudson any justice by wearing that on _this_ occasion, so settled on a pair of dress slacks and a Doors t-shirt. He felt it gave off just the right, I'm-straight-but-don't-mind-me-you-guys kinda vibe. And, he had to admit, nodding to himself, a slight rock and roll edge.

"We make an odd couple, don't we?" Finn mused, as Kurt batted his fingertips away from the dial with a feral hiss. "So. Am I allowed to dance with you, or..."

"Absolutely not!" Kurt said. "Just... don't dance. _Or_ drink. You should just sit."

"Kurt, I don't wanna _just sit_! And I don't wanna stay sober. That sounds like no fun at all!"

"Yes, well." He shot Finn a glare. "I don't want concerned patrons asking me if you have epilepsy, either." Kurt paused. "And wipe that pout from your face. Be _suave_. _Sophisticated_. You're supposed to be twenty three, remember?"

Concern flooded Finn's face. "Shit, _that's_ what your fake ID says? Kurt, no-one's ever gonna believe you're twenty three. Heck, I have a hard time believing you're eighteen next year!"

Sniffing at him, Kurt fumbled for his fake ID in his pocket and thrust it under Finn's nose.

"Javier Escuella," he explained. "_Very_ continental Europe, no?"

"Hardly," Finn shook his head. "He's a character in _Red Dead Redemption. _Why did Puck make you all, all cool and mysterious, anyway? Why did I have to be 'John Marston'. I sound, so, well. Dull."

Kurt smirked. "He did want to call us 'Maverick Mitchell' and 'Charlie Blackwood', but..."

"_Top Gun_. That would have been way cooler," Finn said, with a sigh.

"Oh, is Charlie the wingman in that?"

Finn blushed. "Uh, no."

"I heard from Blaine earlier," Kurt said. "He's still keen to tutor you in US History, you know."

"There's only a week of school left. Can we... can we not talk about that right now?"

"Okay," Kurt said, pulling into the parking lot. "What would you like to talk about, then, Finn?"

"This, actually," Finn said, as the car came to a stop. "It... are you sure this is actually a gay bar?"

"Don't ask me, Mr. Bossypants!" Kurt responded, slamming the car door behind him with force. "_You_ were the one who found it on Google."

Blinking several times, Finn let his eyes adjust to their surroundings. The bar was utterly nondescript from the outside, and there were a few guys who were probably in their early forties, wearing flannel shirts and dockers, smoking outside. 'abylon', the faded letters stated, missing the B. Finn scratched his head; that was what the place had been called, right? Perhaps it had changed ownership or something?

"Let's just check it out," Finn said, linking his arm with Kurt's, though he frowned and noticed Kurt already seemed to be checking Google on his phone for somewhere else. "First impressions can be wrong sometimes, yeah?"

"Okay," Kurt said, with a heavy sigh. "Let's go in."

They carefully sidestepped the messy, gray puddles in the parking lot, Finn swiftly lifting Kurt up to avoid one particularly large pool of water before it could ruin his boots, and trying his hardest to meet the bouncer's eye. To his surprise, the bouncer waved them both through without so much as a word. Finn knew he was 6'3" in bare feet with a smattering of stubble, and could easily pass for college-aged, but Kurt... well. He might have passed for eighteen if you squinted a little, but _twenty one_? Finn supposed that the bouncer was sympathetic to Kurt's plight. Or, then again, perhaps this bar wasn't picky and needed all the customers it could get.

Inside wasn't much better. They were playing Billy Ray Cyrus, and his feet were sticking to the floor, and, oh _God_, he quickly met the eyes of a guy who looked around the same age as Burt and stank of stale sweat and Lucky Strikes. Kurt giggled as, in spite of himself, Finn emitted a surprisingly high-pitched yelp.

"You work in construction?"

"He's with _me_," Kurt snapped, not even registering the man's face.

"Lighten up, toots. I was only kidding," he said, and then shook his head. "This bar... well, she don't see many of you young'uns these days."

"I'm not surprised," Kurt said derisively, scanning the bar, nose wrinkled with criticism and disdain. "This place needs a hip replacement. As do all of its customers, so it seems."

The guy merely chuckled, and gestured at Finn. "You and your boyfriend's first time at one of these bars then, I take it?"

Finn blushed. "No, we're... brothers, actually. Well, stepbrothers, we're not bloo-" Kurt stamped on his toe. "Ouch!"

"His idea, then, huh?"

Finn nodded, as Kurt walked over to the bar. "Kurt's not really done this before. I thought he could do with a bit of... support."

Extending his hand, he smiled warmly at Finn. "I'm Bob. And, well, this place is a bit like a comfy old pair of shoes, really. Everyone knows each other, but... you two should check out the bars in Columbus one weekend," he paused. "This... doesn't seem like his scene."

Laughing, Finn patted him on the arm. "It's... dude. It's _so not_ it's almost funny."

"Tell you what," Bob said. "I'm off to shoot some pool with the guys, but there's a club about five minutes walk from here. It's not gay, but it _is_ gay-friendly, caters for the college crowd." He gestured at Kurt, who appeared to be embroiled in an argument with the bartender over the lack of a wine list. "My kids are always raving about the place."

His _kids_? Finn immediately thought about what Burt would say if he found out what he and Kurt were doing without his permission, but pushed down his guilt. Now was not the time. _Never_ was the time.

"Thanks for the tip, man. It was nice to meet you," he said, shaking Bob's hand.

"You too," he said, giving Finn a firm pat on the shoulder. "You have a good night, son, and make sure your brother does too, 'kay?"

As Finn was left alone, a half-smile gracing his face, Kurt returned with a shot glass of... something black and deadly-looking, and arched his eyebrow in interest. "And what was going on _there_, Finn Hudson?"

"Bob was telling me there's a club across the street which might be more your thing."

"Oh? Bob?" Kurt snorted, then downed his drink with a grimace. "Sambuca," he said, shuddering slightly, "I needed _something_, alright, and they don't even have _cocktails_ here. Cocktails! How can they not have _cocktails_, Finn?"

"Yeah," Finn replied. "I didn't think a gay bar could be so, so..."

"Filled with more toweling than Sheets n' Things?"

"No. Normal," Finn replied. "Scarily so. If it weren't for those guys cuddling in the corner over there, I'd have no idea."

Although he could sense Kurt was disappointed, Finn couldn't help but smile. Kurt had always made it seem as though there was this whole world out there that he couldn't ever hope to understand, full of unicorns and rainbows and who knew what, but this was just... a bunch of guys. A bunch of guys who had sex with each other, sure, but they were just shooting pool, and watching the game, and debating over the jukebox like the guys at all the other bars he'd been to.

"Let's go," Kurt said, shaking his head. "It's only been five minutes and I've had more than enough."

000

Kurt smiled, tapping his foot to the beat of the music. "Ah, Rihanna. Now, _this_? This is more like it."

"Really, Kurt?" Finn hissed, and gestured to two mildly-attractive girls who didn't look as though they were coming up for air any time soon, the crowd around them utterly oblivious to their shenanigans. "Um, are you sure _this_ isn't a gay bar?"

Rolling his eyes, Kurt sauntered up to the bar and snapped his fingers, and Finn couldn't help but laugh at Kurt's attempt to look like he wasn't seventeen and more used to drinking pomegranate juice while watching _Project Runway_ re-runs. "Do you have any cocktails? Any, any drinks specials?"

The bartender didn't look too much older than Kurt, and _certainly_ didn't look old enough to have been working there. "Oh, I have a drink for you, _special_." He paused, and winked a brilliant green eye in Kurt's direction. "One Mudslide, coming up. First one's on the house."

"Isn't he gonna ask me what _I _want?" Finn pouted, and thrust a twenty in Kurt's hand as Kurt received his Mudslide and twirled the straw before taking an appreciative sip.

"I'll have a beer," Finn said. "Oh, and a shot of Jack, too."

"He your boyfriend?" The bartender said, poking a thin, manicured fingertip in Finn's vague direction, and was that a _swallow_ tattoo Finn could see on his forearm? Emo douche. But Kurt didn't seem to think so. Kurt was fluttering his eyelashes and licking his straw absurdly. Well. There was no accounting for taste.

"No," Kurt said, shaking his head. "Definitely not."

Finn grumbled to himself and stared down at the coppery liquid in his tumbler, hoping it would hold the answer to all of his current problems. It didn't. He resorted to playing _Tap Tap_ on his phone, roving his eyes across the bar occasionally, reluctant to leave Kurt's side.

A sharp fingernail prodded his bicep and he flinched as a light, feminine voice sung in his ear. "Hey, gorgeous! My drink's empty."

"Yeah?" Finn said, and without even turning around, he was immediately reminded of Quinn and all of the pain _that_ came with. She _sounded_ blonde and insistent, and used to getting what she wanted, that much was certain, and Finn hadn't got anything he'd wanted lately, so why should it be different for anyone else? "Maybe you should buy yourself another one, then?"

As he heard the clop of high heels clack further in the distance, Finn swore he could hear her mutter something about the gorgeous ones being gay under her breath, but he ignored it. He didn't think he would ever understand chicks, and anyway, he had to keep his eye on Kurt, lest that awful, fauxhawked bartender with his dark hair and bright eyes put something in his drink, or, or do... something.

He grabbed Kurt's arm, dragging him away from his seat. "Time to go home, man."

"Hey!" Kurt snapped. "What is your problem? We've not even been here an hour!"

"Yeah," Finn retorted, "and it didn't even take you that long to flirt with the first person giving you, a, a _friendly ear_."

"Isn't that what you wanted, though, Finn? You wanted me to see there were other options?"

Finn frowned, swirling his beer in his hand. "There's a whole _bar _of other options," he said, anger boiling in the pit of his stomach as he took in the bemused look on Kurt's face. "He's what, _twenty four_?"

"Pft. At least I got his phone number," Kurt said, smugly.

"What? Dude, you're not actually going to..."

Kurt took a sip of his drink. "Of _course _I'm not! I was going to delete it once I was out of his line of sight, and I refused to give him mine. And who are you, my Dad? I bet Blaine's doing exactly the same in... wherever the hell he is right now." He paused, leaning his head on Finn's shoulder. "I'm not... I'm not feeling too great, Finn."

"Of course you're not! You've had way too much to drink, which, which is why we need to get you home."

"No, I'm not even tipsy." Kurt shook his head. "I've only had three drinks, and a Mudslide's three quarters empty chocolate milk calories anyway."

"So why aren't you feeling too great, then? Is it because, geez, I dunno, Kurt, you're leading another guy on when Blaine's visiting his..."

"Blaine and I are on a break, okay!" He shouted, drink swaying in his hand. "He's not visiting his relatives; he just doesn't want to, to _do this_ right now. Yes, I have no idea why, yes, it hurts, and no, I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"Really, now, Finn? Isn't that what you _wanted_?"

"No," he said, firmly. "I know I've had, well, issues with Blaine, major issues, but having you be unhappy is, like, the _last_ thing I'd ever want, Kurt."

Kurt extended his arm to Finn's with a soft sigh. "Cheer me up?"

Finn patted his shoulder. "C'mon. There's another bar over by the coat check, and I'm sure I could score some free drinks for us." He paused, realizing Kurt's reddening eyes and button nose were far more likely to achieve _that_ dubious honor. "Oh, let's go and be really mean about their outfits. You like doing that, right?"

"Yes," Kurt said, smiling gently. "I do. I'm so glad you're here with me, Finn. I... I really didn't want to be alone this evening."

"Me neither," Finn replied, clinking their near-empty glasses together with a wide grin.

000

Six drinks down the line, and Finn found himself dancing with Kurt. He wasn't sure how it had happened, one moment, Kurt was leaning into his ear mocking a guy with a bow tie, and then starting to sniff about Blaine, and Finn couldn't have that, didn't want Kurt to be reminded of that, so they'd fumbled together, hitting the crowded dance floor, some song he didn't recognise, the singer going on about guiding someone home before their curfew, and into their bed, and. Well. Wasn't _that_ apt?

Kurt was swaying and swirling to the beat, letting Finn dip him occasionally, a single drop of sweat dripping from the tip of his pert, perfect nose, the fire in his eyes Finn loved so much present, and this was _nothing_ like the dance at the wedding. That had been happy smiles, and joyful outstretched arms, and this was something else. Something that made Finn feel more than a little bit like one of those poles in one of _those_ clubs, and it was affecting him more than he cared to admit as Kurt spun and twirled around him, grinning brightly, kicking his leg in the air occasionally.

"Enjoying yourself, Cowboy?" Kurt's voice was flirty, happy, carefree, as he spun around, clutching Finn's waist with sweaty, warm hands, giggling in his ear.

Finn yelped as Kurt's thigh slid between his, forcing them closer still. "Um," he coughed, desperately wishing for a cool drink, or perhaps a shower, or even that infernal cooler full of Gatorade he'd kicked over on the football field the previous evening. "I... I guess so?"

Kurt tiptoed up, his leg moving higher, brushing against him, voice dripping like melted chocolate against the lobe of Finn's ear. "I'm so, so glad I'm here with you, Finn. I'm enjoying myself, too."

Moving back slightly, Kurt rested his hands across the small of Finn's back, massaging his skin which heated further at his touch. Finn exhaled, realizing if Kurt were any closer, he would be able to feel exactly how much Finn was _enjoying_ himself, and there was no way in hell he could let that happen. He braced his palms against Kurt's chest, trying to keep enough distance between them.

"Why are you glad to be here with me, huh?" Finn murmured into the top of Kurt's soft, shiny hair. He couldn't help but smile as he felt it tickle the tip of his nose.

"Because I can do _this_," Kurt replied, tiptoeing up slightly to brush his lips against Finn's cheek. "And? Guess what! Nobody cares! Isn't it great, Finn?"

Finn tilted his chin up, looked at the gaudy lights on the walls, looked at the drunk co-eds propping themselves up against the bar, looked anywhere but those bright, brilliant eyes. This wasn't right, it wasn't... oh, _god_, Kurt was nibbling his earlobe. What the _hell _was he doing? What was he playing at?

"You can do it, too," Kurt said. "If you want to."

"I..."

"And this," Kurt added, pressing a kiss against the line of his jaw.

"Kurt!" Finn's trembling hands tried their best to push him away. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm just enjoying myself, Finn," he purred.

Kurt's lips weren't soft, weren't... Finn could feel the rasp of them against the stubble of his cheek, trailing slowly, carelessly, to the corners of his mouth, and Finn couldn't help it. He couldn't help sneaking his tongue out against Kurt's lips, wondering, no, _needing_, to know what Kurt tasted like. Before he knew it, he was biting Kurt's lower lip, clenching one hand in Kurt's hair, the other grabbing a handful of Kurt's shirt, and he felt himself melt, the music, and the light, and the noise of the club fading around him, and his...

His _brother_. His closest friend. His, his _Kurt_. Shit. What had he done? He broke away, breathing in harsh, messy pants, meeting Kurt's eyes which were wide open in shock. Why did it feel _good_? It should have felt reprehensible, and, and awful, and what the hell would anyone say if they ever found out? What the hell would _Kurt_ say when he found out, because Finn suspected there was no way he would ever remember this the following morning.

Kurt, at that moment, was silent, his head tipped against Finn's shoulder.

"We... we need to get you home, Kurt. _Now_."

"Uh-huh", Kurt said, voice buzzing around Finn's ears, and he was fiddling with the hem of his shirt which Finn had, oh crap, _when_ had he managed to un-tuck that, anyway? "You're..."

"Kurt," he said. "Kurt. I am so, sorry. I got caught up in the moment, I pushed it too far, I, I..."

Meeting Kurt's eyes, Finn gulped. There didn't seem to be any regret there. Could he kiss him again? When else would he get the chance? Kurt hadn't said no, or told him to stop, or anything of the sort._ No_. He couldn't even think about kissing him again. Kurt was _drunk_. Yes, Finn _ached_, uncomfortably so, wishing like hell he'd worn tighter pants because his arousal was all but pointing out in front of him like some obscene, neon street sign, but he couldn't act like, like some stupid boy without impulse control, even if that was what people expected of him these days.

He knew how much the kiss with Karofsky the previous year had affected Kurt, too. This was _not_ the time. It had to be special for him, dinner, candles, holdings hands, not frantic making-out in some dingy bar, and it was at that terrifying point that Finn realized just how much he cared about Kurt. Liked him. Loved him, even.

Was he _in love_ with him?

No. This had to stop. This had to stop, right now.

"Okay," Finn said, taking a deep breath, willing his feet to move, looping an arm behind Kurt's back. "Let's... let's go."

"I..." Kurt was still speechless, touching his index finger to his lip in shock.

"We've had far too much to even, even _think_ about getting behind the car... behind the wheel, I mean!"

Kurt exhaled, his voice soft and low, and unmeasured. "There's a motel up the road I saw when we were driving here. Dad... our emergency credit card, said to, to use it. We can tell him and Carole the car broke down."

"In Dayton?"

"Yes. I'll say I was visiting Blaine."

The reminder hit Finn like a bullet in the stomach and he felt his gut lurch, rolling, heavy, liked he'd swallowed a handful of gravel. "Oh, God, Blaine, I... I made you cheat on Blaine. Shit!"

"Oh, God." Kurt echoed. "Blaine. I... Blaine! I didn't even think about Blaine. I think I'm gonna be sick."

Finn suddenly wished for his blood to be magically transformed into thick, strong black coffee, as he rubbed Kurt's back in warm circles, as his brother, no, his _friend_, sobbed, brokenly, breaking his heart with each sniff.

"I'm so lost, Finn! I - I don't know what came over me, what the hell was I doing?"

"Ssh, Kurt. You did nothing wrong. It was my fault. Mine. It, it was... just a kiss. It's gonna be okay; it's gonna be fine." He took a deep breath. "Blaine's gonna be fine. You'll see."

Though, Finn didn't even believe the words as they came from his own, traitorous mouth. It seemed like they served to reassure him more than Kurt, because Kurt was lost? Well. Kurt wasn't the only one. And right now, he didn't give a damn about whether Blaine was fine; there was only one concern in his mind, and that concern was how he could make things right for the trembling, sobbing form in his arms.

Finn rummaged in his pockets for some spare change, hastily thrust a handful of coins in the vague direction of the coat check guy, then collected his jacket, wrapping it around Kurt's shaking shoulders before they walked across the road to the motel in awkward, clumsy silence.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Tapping his fingers against the cool, cheap, fake marble counter of the reception desk, Finn met the receptionist's wary smile.

"Our car broke down", he said, gesturing frantically in the vague direction of the door, as though that would help his lie. "We need a room."

"Okay," she replied, the harsh points of her nails clacking against the keyboard like the rain pounding the sidewalk outside. Her name tag read 'Barbara', and it was flanked with a gold star, and Finn couldn't help but grimace. Trust Rachel's ghost to haunt him now, because he could all but imagine her standing beside him, arms folded across her chest, judging him, her beautiful face contorted into an ugly scowl.

"Yeah," he said, tightening his grip on the edge of the counter. "For the pair of us."

"A double?" She arched her left eyebrow, intrigue coloring her features, and Finn pondered whether management actually paid attention to those comment cards, because he was definitely going to fill one out. Why did people always have to _assume_? It had happened during their trip to Michigan over the summer, too, and the sound of his Mom's hiccuping laughter still echoed in his head.

"A double?" Kurt said, Finn biting back a laugh at the erratic, sweeping motions he made with his hands, like some overly inebriated mime artist. "No. No, no, no."

Kurt had stopped crying on their walk to the motel, and the bracing coldness of the icy air and rain had sobered him up a little, though his voice still wobbled uneasily, like his footsteps, as he paced around the lobby.

Finn slumped over the counter and groaned. "We're not, like, a _pair_ pair. Don't you have something… larger?"

"I'd rather sleep in the car," Kurt said, through clenched teeth, swaying like a tree in a storm. "Or, alternatively, in the pool of shame, which is rapidly engulfing me at the prospect of this overly clichéd scenario."

Shaking his head, Finn wondered, not for the first time, how Kurt managed to be so articulate even when he was drunk, or tired, or ill. Why did words never come that easily to _him_?

"Sorry, Mr.?"

"Hudson," he replied.

"Well, Mr. Hudson, we only have a double, and oh, it comes with a water bed, too."

"What?" Finn realized he must have looked exactly as mortified as he felt, because she reached across the counter to pat his hand, gently and sympathetically.

"I was just trying to be funny; night shift's pretty dull around here. We do have a two queen room spare. Though something tells me your friend would rest his head anywhere tonight, huh?"

Two beds, yeah. That was good; he needed to make Kurt comfortable. He couldn't push anything, but hated the disappointment that coursed through him all the same. Yet, it would have been so easy just to smile softly, stroke Kurt's hair, kiss him again, and again. Wrap him up in his arms, letting his own warmth soak through Kurt's icy skin. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? Then, maybe he could do that, could do that whether there was one bed, or two beds, or, or ten beds. Couldn't he?

He was so ashamed he was even _thinking_ that, he wanted to sink into the floor.

"Kurt? That cool with you?" He looked over his shoulder again. "Kurt?"

He suspected the receptionist was right; Kurt wouldn't care at all where he rested his tired body, because he was currently wriggling like a petulant child in the motel's cheap, unsanitary massage chair, his head lolling sleepily on his chest.

"Kurt?"

Finn frowned. Kurt wasn't usually this quiet, and it was unnerving. Glancing back to meet Kurt's eyes, he noticed Kurt's face wasn't showing the anger that had made Finn's heart contract with regret back in the club; he almost appeared contented. He was wrapped up in Finn's quilted jacket, the tips of his fingers just dipping from the cuffs, nose rosy red and hair wild, slightly tacky, and damp with darkness due to the rain.

"Yeah," Finn said, reaching for the paperwork as it was pushed over the counter. "We'll take it, thank you." He handed over his credit card, pocketing the room key with a smile.

"I appreciate it," Kurt called out, but he crinkled his nose with faint disgust as Finn walked over to him and reached for his arm. "You're giving me your pillow if they don't have more than one on each of the beds, though. And if there's so much as one cockroach in that room, Finn Hudson, you're carrying me back to the car yourself."

Finn knew that there was hardly a five-star hotel room awaiting them, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. He wasn't exactly sorry about the situation. It was like kissing Rachel at Nationals; he'd known it had been a bad idea, known he was being selfish, but he wanted to pump his fist and burst into song nonetheless. Though, he suspected, not even Kurt's extensive repertoire could provide something apt for this particular situation.

000

The stairs were slippery under his feet, and Finn rubbed his shoulder with a grunt. He'd had to carry Kurt part of the way, and Kurt was surprisingly solid for such a small bundle of energy. He walked to the vending machine, grumbling as the crinkled dollar bill in his pocket was repeatedly spat out at him like a lolling tongue. Kurt grumbled in response; Finn had handed him the room key, but he seemed unable to work out the finer points of the doorknob.

"Just a moment," Finn said, shaking his head. Collecting the bottle of water he'd selected with Kurt's needs in mind, he walked over to the motel room door and gently placed his right hand over Kurt's before pushing it open with his knee.

"Huh," Kurt said. "How did you know it wasn't locked?"

"Because there's like, nothing to steal? And in movies I..." Yet, he didn't even have time to finish his sentence before Kurt tore through the door, ripping off his jacket and tossing it on the floor. Finn frowned as Kurt muttered a prayer of please-be-okays under his breath, pacing around, boot laces flapping behind him in a trail of drunken shame.

Finn walked through to the bathroom. "Kurt? Are you okay?"

"No," he replied, voice small and scared. "I feel really nauseous."

"You want some water?"

Taking Kurt's silence as a yes, Finn rummaged around the sink and found a flimsy paper cup. He ripped the wrapping open with his teeth and filled it with water, because he knew Kurt didn't like to sip from the bottle; he'd looked after Kurt when he was sick before, and Kurt was always so grateful when Finn remembered the small touches.

"You'll be okay," Finn said, reassuring the pair of them, pressing the cup of water into Kurt's hands. "Sit, or, or lie down, and shut your eyes if you're feeling dizzy." He grimaced, pausing to gesture towards the bathroom. "And yeah, it's gross, but... if you have to."

Sitting down on the bed, Kurt merely sighed. "No. I... I think I'll be okay."

"Good," Finn replied. "But let me know if I can get some juice, or, I dunno, see if the front desk has aspirin or something, or?" he turned around, hearing a broken sob. "Kurt? Are you crying?"

"No," he said, quietly, the palms of his hands covering his face. "I'm just a little worse for wear. I'm just... grateful you still care."

Finn sat down beside him and patted his knee gently. "Of course I care. Why wouldn't I, huh?"

Kurt placed his hand over Finn's and squeezed it in response. The silence allowed Finn to survey their surroundings. The room was fairly small, even by the standards of his old shoebox of a room, and, yes, it did have two beds, but one of them was so small that even Rachel's tiny feet would have hung over the edge, and the other was huge. It was like some sort of twisted, real-life Goldilocks scenario. Finn realized he'd either wronged the receptionist in a past life, or he wasn't as subtle as he thought he'd been and she had quickly looked past his false indignation and decided to throw him a lifeline. Huh. It was basic, but warm and clean enough.

"So," Kurt said, breaking the awkward silence between them. Finn glanced sideways, realizing Kurt's eyes were fixed on the floor, and he was nervously thumbing his brooch.

"So?" Finn echoed.

Kurt's voice lacked its usual confidence. "_So_. Why did you do that, Finn?"

Taking a deep, heavy breath, Finn could merely sigh. "I was... you just seemed so upset over Blaine, and I just wanted to comfort you, and... it just kinda happened, okay?"

Wait, did Kurt just laugh? As if this situation wasn't grave enough; did he really deserve to be made to feel worse about himself than he already did?

"Comfort? Is that what they call it nowadays?" Kurt paused to take a sip of his water before setting it down on the bedside table. "Impressive improvisation skills, Finn. I would have assumed you were going to say you were rehearsing for a play, or perhaps thought I was choking on a pretzel."

Yet, the nerves weren't hidden by the confident tone of his voice. Kurt's fingers toyed inelegantly with his suspenders, flicking them back and forth against his chest, and Finn wasn't entirely sure what to say in response. After all, he suspected nothing he could say would help him make things right again.

"Okay, yeah, I kissed you, but," he paused, taking a deep breath. "You started it."

"What are you," Kurt said, tipping his chin up haughtily. "Five?" Then, he shook his head, the corners of his mouth dipping down. "I suppose I did, didn't I?"

"And then some." Finn shook his head. "You were, well. Breathing against my ear, and grinding, and." He frowned, rubbing at his neck. "I also think you gave me a hickey, dude."

Kurt slumped over again, winding his fingers in his hair. "Oh God. Tonight was all fun and games until I mistook your ear for a Belgian praline, hm?"

"Hey," Finn replied, gently running his finger under one of Kurt's suspenders. "At least it won't appear on YouTube."

Shivering against him, Kurt circled his thumb against Finn's wrist. "Did you know a journalist from Europe found _My Headband_ and _Red Eyes_ and a bunch of Rachel's awful original songs through that? She wants to interview her, apparently. I'm not sure whether to be amused, or jealous." He paused. "On reflection? Both, I think."

Finn blinked. "Wait, wasn't _Red Eyes_ that ballad she wrote about the time she took me on that date to the animal shelter?"

"Yes, that one. I remember her spending the better part of a week attempting to find a word which rhymed with '_vivisection_'. Anyway, Finn. I'm not letting you change the subject." Kurt sighed. "What was going through your mind back there?"

Steeling himself, Finn took a deep breath, trying to compress his hesitancy, crushing it down like a soda can underfoot, because it _had_ happened. He'd wanted it to happen, and couldn't deny the effect it had on him, want and arousal running through his veins. Kurt had felt it, too, so what did he have to gain by lying? On the rare occasions he could convince himself to tell a white lie, his emotions were always etched across his face, and granted it made him a rather poor poker player, but...

He wished he'd had more to drink, far more, because this was hard. This made Algebra, or 360 degree turns, or even washing out two pints of slushy from his football uniform seem like a walk in the park.

Tilting Kurt's head towards his with his fingertips, he took another breath. He counted to five, and exhaled. "I don't know, but... I liked it, alright? It was nice."

Kurt raised his head and rested it on Finn's shoulder, pressing his nose behind Finn's ear. It was a gesture they did quite frequently, usually when they were sat on the couch together watching a movie, or listening to music, and it was intimate but comfortable. Finn swallowed the lump in his throat; this time, it seemed charged with so much more.

"Nice?" Kurt said, Finn breaking contact in shock at hearing his voice imbued with so much bitterness. "Do you even realize the implications of this? You can't just kiss me because it feels _nice_."

"I can't?"

"Finn? Do you..." Kurt's breath was so warm Finn could feel it prickle the hairs on the back of his neck. Then, Kurt shifted away from him, folding his hands together solemnly. His voice was barely a whisper. "Do you like me, Finn?"

Finn's heart sped up, and he opened his mouth, but then quickly closed it. The words would come out easily, but the last thing he wanted was for them to sound callous and cowardly, and... No. He wasn't going to be that person. He owed that much to Kurt. He felt like his head was stuck on stop-motion pause as he nodded, head weighing itself down like lead, then pressed a soft kiss against Kurt's forehead.

"Yeah, Kurt. I do." He flopped back against the headboard, folding his arms against his chest, bracing himself for impact because he had no idea how Kurt would react to his clumsy words. "Does that, uh, answer your question?"

Tilting his head sideways, Finn found it difficult to read Kurt's expression. His brow was creased and he looked angry yet sympathetic at the same time. Finn felt the soft brush of fingertips against the hem of his shirt and then Kurt reached up to twirl a strand of hair between his fingertips. Nervous. That was it. But why was Kurt nervous _now_? He hadn't been nervous back in the club, at least not outwardly so.

"How…" Kurt's voice stuttered, tripping over itself. "How long?"

Finn idly scratched his own cheek. "I really don't know." He reached over to the bedside table, picked up the cup of water and watched the liquid tip back and forth. "I just wanted to kiss you so bad. Back in your room the other day, when I just… couldn't say what I should have said and spilled my drink over the floor like the clumsy idiot I am, I just couldn't even really admit I liked you to myself, and," he paused, taking a sip of water, letting it coat his throat. "I regret so much what I did last year, and there was the wedding, then with Burt in the hospital, and Rachel and Blaine, and I just… I couldn't even let myself think about it, I…"

"Breathe, Finn. It's okay."

"It's not!" He replied, his hands clenching, cracking the plastic of the cup in his hands. "I… look. Maybe you don't like me back. Why would you? Yeah, I get that, but…" His eyes stung, and he wanted to rub them roughly until they itched and prickled like the rest of his body did. "You have to break it off with Blaine, Kurt. You have to."

"Yes," Kurt said, sighing into the palms of his hands. "I do. I will. Right now, I can't, I… I care about him so much. He deserves so much more than a drunken break up over the phone."

"What made you change your mind? You were so upset earlier?" Finn paused, sighing. "Well, before I kissed you. And after. God, I just can't do anything right. I just wanted to cheer you up, and…"

Kurt was in his arms without a moment's pause. That was good, wasn't it?

"I can't pretend, Finn. I'm sick of pretending. I like spending time with you so much. More than I like spending it with _him_, and I hav- had this gorgeous, wonderful, brilliant boyfriend. Blaine loved me, but it wasn't enough for me. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No," he replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I always preferred spending time with you over Rachel."

"Finn," Kurt said, his voice clipped with frustration. "That's not much of a compliment. Anyway, it's really late and I'm still not feeling too great. I can't talk about this right now, okay?"

Looking across the room, Finn eyed his surroundings warily. "So who's going to take the midget bed? Coin toss?"

Kurt's boot dropped to the floor with a heavy crash, and Finn heard a dull click as he began to unbuckle his suspenders. "Neither of us are," he said, patting the bed beside him and meeting Finn's eyes.

"Are you sure?"

Standing up, Kurt began to unbutton his shirt, and as difficult as it was to look away from that, Finn met Kurt's eyes instead. There was so much trust there in his ocean-colored eyes that he couldn't even think of the words to describe it. Kurt merely smiled softly, nodding at him. "Yes. I'm sure. I want to be close to you tonight."

Kurt slid under the covers, and even under the layers of fabric, Finn could feel the heat radiating from his skin. He was so close Finn could smell his cologne, could almost taste him dipping across his tongue, and god, he wanted to tangle his hands in Kurt's rain-damp hair and drag him down, feel the slide of that cool, velvety skin against his bare chest, but Kurt had bared enough of himself already. So, Finn learned over, and gently pressed his lips against Kurt's like a whisper. He broke away, and kissed him on the forehead, hoping the soft brush of his lips would give Kurt more reassurance than his words could.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

000

Walking into the bathroom, Finn stretched and removed his t-shirt. He'd kissed a boy. He'd kissed _Kurt_. He took a deep breath and looked at himself in the icy, accusing glare of the mirror. Same as before; there was a smattering of stubble on his cheeks which hadn't been there that morning, and the shadows under his eyes were a little darker, but nothing else was amiss. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting, a neon sign over his head or something? Then, he thought back to the first bar they'd been to. Men, liking men, and how _normal_ it had seemed.

He shook his head at the thought, and watched his reflection brighten up; trust him to have an epiphany now. Of _course_ it was normal. Because if he thought that wanting a man like that made him different, someone to be ashamed of, someone _other_ people would be ashamed of, then wasn't he implying the exact same thing about Kurt?

Averting his eyes from his own reflection, he bent down to remove his shoes and his pants. It wasn't as though he could sleep in them, after all. He briefly debated removing his socks, too, but it _was_ December. Taking a deep breath and feeling oddly proud of the Finn staring back at him, blooming hickey on his neck and all, he fought the reflex to cross his arms over his chest and walked back over to the bed.

"Hey, Kurt," he said, softly.

"Well, hello there." Kurt's voice was dark and rough and Finn blushed as he felt Kurt's gaze take everything, all of _him_, in. "Am I dreaming?"

What was it Sam had said to him before the _Rocky Horror _debacle? That the sexy would flow through if he was just himself? Yeah. There was some truth to that. Kurt all but looked like he wanted to eat him at the moment, and it would have been a little scary if it wasn't so, well. Hot. Kurt was sat up in bed, covers pooled around his waist, and he swept back the covers and moved over, encouraging Finn to join him, his eyes half-open yet even so, still just so beautiful and bright.

"Dunno, dude," he replied, slipping under the cool bedsheets with a hiss. "If you are, I'm sharing the same dream."

Turning towards Kurt, he felt warm, heavy breath on his face and Kurt was wonderfully close, so close Finn could have counted each of his eyelashes if he'd wanted to. He cupped Kurt's head gently, before pressing their lips together, opening his mouth slightly before breaking away.

"Mmm…" Kurt said, softly, touching his finger to his lip with a smile.

Finn scratched his head. "Do you," and he could never remember feeling this awkward, not even with _Santana_. "Do you wanna make out with me?"

Kurt fell back against the pillow and draped an arm over his face. "Not tonight, Finn. I'm not going to be a cheater. If anything happens between us, it happens _after_ I break up with Blaine."

"Shush. You're not a cheater," Finn said, and hoped he didn't sound predatory; he was just trying to help Kurt, after all. "You're going to break up with him tomorrow. And if you have to blame it on someone, then blame it on me."

"Finn," he said, softly. "I'm not going to blame anything on you. Tonight was wonderful, and I'm not sorry it happened."

Reaching for Kurt's hand, Finn squeezed it tightly. He was so used to holding tiny, delicate hands, but Kurt's fingers lined up almost perfectly with his. It was different, but nice. Just like Kurt, he realized, and then immediately hated himself for even thinking that. What was he, some sort of cheesy romance novel?

"Does this… does this mean we're together?"

"I don't know," Kurt said, curling into Finn's arms. "I need some time to think about this, because part of me thinks this is a stupid, cruel joke, and any moment now the hockey team's going to burst out from behind that gaudy chair over there and yell 'surprise!' and you'll rip off a mask and be Jacob Ben Israel underneath it all, brandishing that stupid video camera."

"I'd never joke about this, Kurt. You're amazing and… I'm glad this happened. You're beautiful, Kurt."

Kurt simply laughed. "Well, look at that. Ten points to Hummel, because I think I just turned the quarterback gay."

Finn poked him in the arm. "Shut up! I'm _not_ gay!"

"Really? Because the way you were pressing against me back at the club?" Kurt exhaled, whistling through his bottom teeth. "Let's just say I can understand why the football team call you 'Hard On'"

"Shut up! That's so not what happens in the locker rooms! I never knew you could be so," Finn knotted his brows together and searched for the correct word. "Covert."

"Don't you mean overt?"

"No, I've never heard you say anything so dirty before. You cover your eyes during the PG-13 bits of _Desperate Housewives_. Definitely covert, dude."

"Whatever you say," Kurt raised his fingertips, enunciating his words with air quotes. "'Hard On'."

Huh. Kurt Hummel was more than a little flirty when he was drunk. Finn would have to file that titbit away for future reference.

"I'm not gay, Kurt. It's just you. I guess I'm a Hummelsexual, man."

"A what?" Kurt sat up, his eyes widening in shock. "Oh, no. No, no. Please don't be Hummelsexual, Finn. That would encompass my _Dad_. Or an attraction to those weird china figurines. Or, or bees."

Finn merely slung an arm around him, meeting his sleepy eyes. "Get some rest, okay?"

"No goodnight kiss?"

Well, if Kurt insisted. Finn pulled him close until their faces were level and kissed him, breaking away to trail wet kisses down the line of his neck, painting a silvery stripe with his tongue that shimmered against Kurt's pale skin in the darkness, and Kurt arched his back, moaned, deeply, his chest rising and falling quickly.

"Finn," Kurt said, his soft breath of sigh charged with want. "You need to stop that."

Grinning, Finn flicked his tongue against Kurt's neck and was rewarded with a soft, beautiful moan, Kurt's hands clutching his back reverently. God, making out was going to be _awesome_. He'd never had anyone react to him like that before, and he had the feeling it would be somewhat addictive.

"Finn," Kurt repeated. "You need to stop. Now."

Pulling away, he sighed. He really didn't want to stop, but then he remembered what Rachel had done with Puck, and how much it had hurt him, and even if it was _Blaine_ whose feelings would be crushed like shards of glass, he just couldn't do that to somebody else. It would be more than hypocritical of him. Anyway, this was more than he thought he'd get; he thought Kurt would never have wanted to talk to him again after what had transpired earlier that evening. His hormones would just have to grin and bear it.

"Just so you know," Finn said, running his fingers through Kurt's hair, "I'm doing this because I want _you_. Not because I have something to prove to myself. I just, I wanted to make you feel good, because maybe this is it, and it won't happen again?"

Kurt sighed, snuggling closer. "If you want it to happen again, it will."

"But?"

"But you really have to want it, Finn, and we need to talk about this, about _us_. There's a world of difference between doing this behind closed doors, and giving me what I need, and, and…" He snorted and flicked Finn's nose with his fingertips. "It's so hard to think rationally when we're cuddling in our underwear."

"Okay, I. Look, you know I can't give you all of that right away, but I can try. I, I think I want to fight for this, Kurt."

Kurt yawned, the corners of his eyes creasing, and pulled the corner of the sheets over the tip of his nose. "Don't make any promises now, okay? And I want you to fight for _yourself_, first and foremost."

"Kurt? Have I… have I ruined everything?"

"No," Kurt said, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. "Nothing's ruined. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"That's, that's good. Goodnight, Kurt."

"Goodnight, Finn. And don't ever try to kiss me again after drinking cheap beer. Your breath smells like a dumpster."

Finn chuckled against Kurt's head gently. "You just tasted like, like chocolate milk. Kind of delicious, so, uh, sorry you got the rough end of the deal."

"No, Finn," he said, yawning again. "I really didn't. I got the family I wanted, _and_ I got you. Looks like my elaborate schemes do work out in the long run."

"Yeah," Finn murmured. "And, you know what? This is gonna be your year, Kurt. Our year. I'm gonna make sure of it."

Kurt curled into his body, making such an adorable noise that Finn couldn't help but smile. Yeah. They'd shared a bed before, usually when they'd fallen asleep in each other's rooms, but, never so intimately, and yes, he wanted more than that, but he'd take this, for now.

He had no idea what the morning, and a more sober Kurt would bring, hoped the guilt, and regret, and shame didn't flood in to their room like the harsh early morning light would, but if he had to fight for Kurt? God. He would.

"Kurt? Are you awake?" He poked Kurt lightly on his arm, but only soft snoring met his ear. He smoothed the front of Kurt's hair down and knew just what he could do. Yeah. Sectionals. Screw Blaine, and screw Rachel, because he was going to stand up for himself. _That_ Finn was going to make a comeback. Nodding to himself, he felt freer somehow, like the weight and the pressure had lifted, and he lightly ran his index finger over Kurt's lips before he shut his eyes and let sleep overtake him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Finn groaned, the shards of light breaking through the gap in the curtains and hitting him like a punch to the gut. Blinking, he focused on his surroundings, the bland beige walls and the floral carpet. Kurt's arm was slung across his waist, his fingertips thumbing lazy, idle circles around his hipbone. Kurt's leg between his. He felt like a present, wrapped up in the most delicious paper, and he really, really didn't want to move.

"Hey," Kurt said, his morning breath ticklish against the back of his neck, and Finn couldn't help but bite back a groan as he curled his toes up into the sheets.

"Mornin'," he replied. _Babe? Baby? Sweetie?_ No. He had a gut feeling Kurt would never be receptive to any of those sorts of epithets. "How you doing, Kurt?"

Lowering his left hand, he placed it over Kurt's, stilling it, because Kurt _really_ needed to stop moving his fingers _there_ if he actually wanted Finn to get out of bed any time soon. The gesture seemed completely innocent, comforting, even, but Finn couldn't help but whimper into his pillow at the teasing warmth it spread across his body. God, he wanted to wake up like this every morning. In fact, a few more mornings of _this_ and the world might make a morning person out of him after all.

"Ugh," Kurt said. "Pink elephants are on parade in my _head_."

"Hangover? Yeah, dude. Those suck."

Kurt's voice was scratchy, and Finn felt a little guilty for not forcing some aspirin or some Gatorade or some... something down his throat the previous night. Then again, who was he kidding? He would only have left Kurt alone if he'd insisted, and Kurt certainly hadn't insisted on anything but his presence.

"Mmm," Kurt replied. "And I do remember everything, before you ask, except for the, er, divesting of clothes. Did you...?"

Finn chuckled to himself then turned around, pressing a light kiss against Kurt's forehead. "That was _totally_ your idea. You said you," he felt a blush begin to creep up his neck, "wanted to be close. Um, _close_ close."

Sitting up, Kurt coughed lightly, Finn frowning at the horror etched on his paler than usual face.

"Oh my. We didn't. We didn't, did we?" Kurt's knees were drawn up against his chest, and he shook his head frantically.

"No!" Finn said, clutching his arm firmly. "How, uh, what did you remember?"

Kurt's head turned to meet Finn's. "Well. The last thing was throwing these on the floor," he gestured to the sad crumple of clothes spread on the busy, gaudy carpet. "And yes, I knew the creases would be dreadful, because these shorts are linen, Finn. Linen! I just suppose I couldn't quite bring myself to care at the time." He buried his head in his hands. "Please tell me this room has a trouser press?"

"Probably not." Finn ruffled his hair, smiling as Kurt's nose scrunched with disdain at the gesture. Trust his prime concern to be the state of his _clothing_. Some things never changed. "Um, what do you remember? Before...?" He trailed off, eyes following Kurt as he stood up and leaned over to rummage for his discarded ensemble.

Standing up, Finn felt the cold breeze from the slightly open window hit his naked chest, and crossed his arms over his torso defensively.

"Were you hoping I was going to forget, Finn?"

"Forget what?"

There was barely enough time to blink before Kurt stood up again, his clothes still bundled in his arms, and placed his hand on Finn's shoulder. His kiss was brief, and chaste, but his eyes said everything.

"That," he said, playfully, and Finn sighed with relief and returned his smile.

Yeah. _That_. Finn didn't think he'd be able to forget _that_ for the rest of his life.

"Hey," he said, walking behind Kurt and pressing his nose up against the crisp curls of hair at the back of his neck. It should have been gross, but Kurt smelled a little like rain, warm, and damp, and so unlike the products and sprays he usually masked himself with. Finn just wanted to let that smell soak through him. Smiling again, he tilted his head forward and flicked his tongue slowly against the dip behind Kurt's ear, and Kurt's breath hitched, catching in his throat.

"You need to stop that, or we're not going to make check-out."

Finn ignored him, pressing a kiss against his jaw. "Maybe we could stay here for another night?"

Kurt sighed, taking a step forward to break contact. "I would love to, but... we can't live in a bubble, Finn. What happened here, with us, with..." Finn frowned as Kurt dropped his clothes on the bed then clutched his hair in his hands, shaking his head with frustration. "I don't know. But it's not going to be the same when we get back to Lima, and the sooner we realize that, the easier it will be. For both of us."

"Kurt. Look at me. You can't ask me to, to walk in a parade and hold your hand in the hallways just yet, and I don't know if I ever _can_ when we're at school, but I just..." He lowered his voice. "I just want you, Kurt. I want to hold you, and do what we did last night, only, like, all the time, and I want more than that, I want... uh. Other things."

"Other things?"

"Um, yeah," Finn looked at the carpet, following the hideous pattern with his eyes. "Like, uh. Sex stuff. You want that too, don't you? Oh God, what if this is some mistake, and, and..."

"Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back, Finn?"

He was never going to understand Kurt. "I dunno, what does that have to do with anything?"

"It was a rhetorical question. I want to, of course I do, but you have to admit that, yes, I have seen the signs, Finn, but the reality has been, well. Unexpected, to say the least. And until Blaine and I have talked, nothing else can happen."

Finn pouted, in spite of himself. "Not even one little, little kiss?"

"You _had_ one kiss."

"C'mon, man. We did way more than that last night."

Looking up, he realized Kurt was staring at the carpet, now. When was he going to get another chance to have Kurt alone like this? He swept his fingers across Kurt's jaw, and Kurt rolled his eyes, muttering something about him being a romantic yet hormone-driven idiot under his breath, but merely sighed into Finn's mouth as they kissed, slowly. It was tough, but Finn had to hold back, kissing him as gently and slowly as he could, adding a light flick of his tongue against Kurt's lip before biting it, unable to hold back a grin as Kurt shuddered lightly then placed his hands firmly against Finn's cheeks, rubbing small circles against the hair just behind the tips of his ears.

Finn opened his eyes. He felt guilty, but he _needed_ to see this. Kurt's were closed, long eyelashes fluttering beautifully against his cheeks.

"Stands to reason you'd be infuriatingly proficient at this," Kurt said, as they broke apart, trying to appear as though he was completely unaffected, but again, his eyes gave away what he was really feeling.

"Yeah, I made us, like, four hundred dollars at the kissing booth last year," Finn replied, puffing his chest with pride, yet immediately regretted it; why did his mouth always overtake his brain? Thankfully, Kurt just smiled at him as he leaned in for another kiss, lazy and slow and utterly delicious.

Then, however, Kurt waggled his finger in Finn's face. "Semantics, Finn. I said _one_."

Finn lowered his eyes. "No tongue, Kurt. That's only half a kiss in _my_ opinion."

"Your opinion is somewhat ruinous," Kurt said, through gritted teeth. "You need to shower, Finn."

"Why?" Raising his arm in the air, Finn gave himself a tentative sniff. "I don't smell too bad, right?"

Slapping his face to his forehead, Kurt all but pushed him towards the bathroom.

"Join me?"

"You are pushing your luck, mister," he said, shaking his head.

In his heart, Finn knew that it was the right idea. If he had to admit it to himself, and he supposed he did, he was more than a little scared of going too far, too fast, when he wasn't even sure exactly what he might _do_ with a naked Kurt, but damn Kurt's moral compass all the same, because Finn could all but imagine the drops of warm water cascading off his soft, pale back, Kurt gripping the cool tiles with his hands, flashing Finn a glimpse of bright blue eyes from over his shoulder, and...

"Suit yourself," he said, feeling somewhat bold and bending down to remove his underwear, yet he realized he still wasn't confident enough to turn around and show himself fully to Kurt. "I'll be thinking about you."

Blushing once he was out of Kurt's sight, he bent over the tub, trying to figure out how to work the taps. How shameless _was_ he? They'd barely even made out, and Finn was already worked up. Tentatively, he pressed the heel of his palm against himself, hissing at the familiarity of his own touch. Yeah, he was _really_ worked up, painfully so, and had been every since he'd woken up with Kurt, all hooded eyes and bedroom voice, squirming against his ass. Could he do this? Get himself off while thinking of Kurt? Yeah. How could he _not?_ He doubted even a cold shower would cool him down any, and walking over to Kurt, his erection tenting one of those tiny, threadbare hotel towels wasn't something he'd feel comfortable doing. Stepping into the shower, he hissed at the feel of warm water on his skin.

Kurt's voice filtered through the door, making him wince. "I know what you're doing in there, Finn Hudson!"

"Showering?" His voice reverberated around him like a guilty echo. "That's what you do in the shower, right?"

Kurt _must_ have known what he was doing, even if he was standing in front of the mirror attempting to tame his wayward hair or something. Kurt had probably done this while thinking about _him_, perhaps not that recently, but… Finn soaped up his hands and reached for the washcloth, biting back a moan, his cock filling further at that thought. God, Kurt should have just come in with him; he didn't have to _do_ anything. Yeah, right. Like Finn would have just stood there and washed while Kurt's naked form was in front of him like some priceless Greek statue.

And, that didn't help, because now he couldn't help but think of Kurt's naked form. Pushing away his guilt, he gripped himself firmly with his soapy hands, not quite enough friction as he would like, and closed his eyes. Images of Kurt appeared in front of him; on his knees, lips stretched around him, his hands firmly gripping Kurt's hair, and he idly thought that he hoped the pounding spray of the shower would at least mask the noises he was making somewhat as he raised the washcloth to his mouth, biting it as he came with a gasp.

Finn took a deep breath, willing his feet to stop shaking, and rinsed his hair before turning off the shower. He stepped onto the bath mat, swiping a line through the steamy fog on the mirror. He tried to look at himself, but wasn't too surprised to find he couldn't quite look himself in the eye.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked back into the bedroom and whistled idly. Kurt looked up, meeting his flushed cheeks and sated grin, but didn't say a word. What was it he'd thought yesterday about acting like a clichéd romance novel? Yeah. That didn't seem to have abated much. He could all but imagine his face in soft focus, flanking the front of some cheesy gay version of a Harlequin Romance novel.

000

Dayton's streets were quiet for a Sunday morning, and though he walked with Kurt in silence, there wasn't anything awkward about it. Looking left, then right, and behind him for good measure, Finn exhaled, his foggy breath hanging in front of him, as he slung his arm across Kurt's back, rubbing small circles just below the base of his ribs.

It hadn't taken much to get Kurt's spark back, two cups of cheap, muddy diner coffee. The drive had been normal, singing along to power ballads alternated with Top 40 hits and exchanging comments about glee club and this really cool place outside Columbus which specialized in grilled cheese sandwiches, and things were so… normal. Finn could almost have sworn what happened was some sort of a dream.

That was, until about ten miles outside of Lima, when Kurt squeezed his hand tightly and didn't let go until they pulled into the driveway. Kurt didn't let go even as Finn fumbled for his keys, and Finn realized he didn't _want_ him to let go, afraid the moment they walked through the door, their connection would be broken. He extracted his hand with a sigh, missing the contact immediately.

"So," Kurt said. "I have a lot of homework to do tonight, and then… Blaine."

"Yeah," Finn patted him on the shoulder. "You can, uh, invite him over here if you like; I promised Puck and Mike I'd hang with them."

Kurt walked into the kitchen; Finn supposed he was going to brew some coffee, or, well, perhaps he just needed some space to think things over?

"No," he called out to Finn. "Thank you, but we're meeting at the Lima Bean. It's so much kinder to him to do this on neutral territory."

"Wasn't that where you had your first date?"

Kurt's tone was cold, and it wasn't one he'd heard since the beginning of their conversation in the motel room the previous night. "Can you think of anywhere else we might go?"

"Yeah, you have a point," Finn said, as he walked into the kitchen, fetched a bottle of water and frowned as Kurt didn't turn around to look at him. "Well. Good luck. You know where to find me."

Heading upstairs, he walked across to his window, staring at the gray streets below him. At least he had Puck and Mike to take his mind off things. It was mostly just wasting zombies and watching 80s horror movies, but it was a distraction all the same, and hanging out past eleven on a Sunday night was _way_ past curfew, and he was going to make the most of it.

It was past midnight by the time he arrived home, and he walked upstairs, pausing outside Kurt's room. The lights were off, and Finn reached up hesitantly to knock on Kurt's door before thinking better of it. Kurt needed _rest_ right now. Not him. He walked back downstairs and rummaged in the cupboards for a snack, trying to occupy his hands with something, because he knew if he gave himself one moment's pause, he'd open Kurt's door and slide right back into his bed.

Tomorrow was school. No more bubble. He slumped on the couch and stared at the ceiling, because what had happened with Kurt had been wonderful, but he didn't want to think about the implications until he was absolutely sure it was _something_. He wasn't going to risk everything over a drunken make-out, and God, then there was the issue of his parents - no, his Mom and Burt, because there was no way he could refer to his stepfather in those terms considering what he'd done with his _son_ - and Finn would have to tell them _before_ they walked in on... anything, because he knew he was as subtle as a brick, and as clumsy as that three-legged cat that stalked around the neighborhood, and this was him: it _would_ happen.

Groping for the remote control, he flicked the TV on to some mindless infomercial, realizing he was still wearing _Saturday's_ clothes which was more than a little disgusting, even by his somewhat lax standards.

000

The next morning, he showered and dressed. And, yes, he'd thought about _exactly_ the same thing in the shower as he had the previous morning, and it was more than a little difficult to meet Kurt's eyes across the breakfast table. Quite honestly, if the neckline of Kurt's dressing gown dipped much lower, he wasn't quite sure how he'd resist the temptation to drag him across the kitchen and have him right there and then, _Nine and a Half Weeks_ style.

"Finn, honey?" his Mom said, cheerily squeezing maple syrup on her pancakes, the fumes wafting in front of his nose with a tempting sugary blast. "Did you and Kurt get up to anything fun this weekend?"

"Um," he scratched his head, feeling his cheeks color a similar shade to the glass of V8 juice next to Kurt's bowl. "We, we, uh..."

"Finn and I visited Dayton," Kurt said. "Unfortunately, we had some transportation problems so we had to rent a motel room and stay the night. Finn was kind enough to put it on his credit card. Last night, I studied and met Blaine for coffee, and Finn went to waste zombies with Mike and Puck."

Carole merely smiled at Kurt and patted his hand. "And the beers in the fridge haven't even been touched! Finn, your brother really is a responsible influence on you. Perhaps it's time to extend your curfew?"

Wow. How did Kurt _do that_? Moreover, how did he _not_ lie about the situation and yet make it sound so mundane and bereft of the, well… _finer_ details, Finn supposed.

"Where's Burt?" Finn asked.

"Aw, you miss him?" Carole ruffled his hair. "We have date night tonight, so he's setting up work super early today. I hope I won't tire him out too much!"

"Mom!" Finn said, aghast, and sprayed a mouthful of his breakfast back on to his plate. Looking across at Kurt, he noticed Kurt's fingers were in his ears and he was muttering something about boundaries, and pamphlets.

"Well," Carole said, her eyes twinkling. "It's nice to see you two boys can agree on _something_ at last."

Finn all but choked on his pop tart. Today was already shaping up as perilously long, and it wasn't even eight o'clock.

000

He entered school, Kurt walking in ahead of him as they'd agreed. Finn was determined to hold his head up and meet the stares and whispers head on. The first thing his eyes encountered was the cheery red and white banner, proclaiming: _State semi runners up: we nearly did it!_ That was nice of them, Finn thought, with a smile and a nod, trying to remember his locker combination.

"Rachel's stats. 24-28-33, remember?" Puck poked him sharply in the side. "And hey, your locker's totally clean, dude. Don't you think that's weird for post-game suckage?"

Finn shrugged, opening his locker. How could they ever expect people to remember all those numbers? "Thanks, man. And yeah, but maybe they're cutting us some slack 'cause we won Championships last year? I mean, nobody's said anything, and a couple of the guys are even calling me shark week, which sounds pretty cool. Maybe they're growing up at last?"

Puck poked him again. "Bro, your stupid playbook stunt lost you major league respect. I mean, I don't blame you for it, even tried to get the guys to listen, but..."

"The Shark," Finn said, sweeping his fingers in front of Puck's face and clicking them wildly. "You think they'll call me that in college? I always wanted one of those cool nicknames, like Big Ben, or Lightning Feet or something."

"Dude, how dumb are you? Shark week's, like, what they call a woman when she's having her _time_. Like, Quinn bitch face squared."

"Oh," he felt his face match the color of his jacket. "Ew. But, still. Nobody's really spoken to me yet. Not even Rachel, and she's usually the first to offer me, uh, comfort. Don't you think that's a bit... strange?"

"Nah. Probably just afraid you'll give 'em all Gatorade showers."

"Heh," Finn replied, raising his first towards Puck's as the bell rang for first period. "Later, bro."

"Later." Puck returned his gesture and snapped his teeth, smoothing his mohawk down with his fingers before sauntering off to, well, wherever he sauntered off to. Finn was one of his best friends, and still wasn't quite sure what Puck did with his days. Nor, he reflected, did he particularly want to know.

000

He _knew_ the silence wouldn't last. _Knew _it. Fourth period had just ended, and Finn didn't even give Kurt enough time to gather his books from his locker before grabbing his arm and marching him into a nearby utility closet, thankful the halls were relatively quiet.

"Hey!" said Kurt, his voice as shrill as a dog whistle. "This shirt's _silk_! What the hell are you playing at, Finn!"

Finn didn't even think before he slammed his fist into the dry wall. "You told them! You, you _told_ them!"

"What? No, Finn You know I wouldn't do that to you. Look, I didn't even out _Karofsky_." Looking away, Kurt rummaged in his bag, passing him a napkin. "Also, your demeanor is a lot more threatening when you don't have a Boris Yeltsin-esque smear of raspberry jelly on your forehead."

"Donut accident." Finn raised a finger to his temple, meeting sticky flesh, then examined his finger carefully before licking it clean with a squeaky pop. "And, yeah. Why did you tell them about my... well, _plans_."

Kurt shook his head. "I... I don't understand."

"Well, yeah," Finn said, cradling his grazed hand in his other palm. "Nobody's been on at me, at us for _this_. Believe me, we would both know if that were the case, it's just... sorry. I got a little on edge. My college plans got out. I had a meeting with Ms. P and I guess Santana must have listened in somehow."

"Hey." Kurt drew him in for a hug. "I wouldn't be surprised if Sue bugged her office, and also? I am proud that you decided to put yourself first and pursue something that makes _you_ happy. How many other people at this school could honestly say that?"

Snorting, inelegantly, he buried his face into Kurt's shoulder. "Funny you should say that, though, because all I heard in study hall were these really awful jokes about getting _physical_. And they keep singing that really awful Olivia Newton John song to me, and the shark jokes, and even _Brittany__'s_ making these jokes about dolphins except I can't be mad at her because she doesn't even realize she's doing it."

"Well," Kurt said, clearly trying to hide the amusement in his voice. "That's original. They clearly have a bright future at the Lima Stop 'n Save ahead of them."

"You do have a point." Finn smiled as Kurt's hands wove through his hair; it hadn't even been a day since it had been just the two of them, but he missed it more than he'd care to admit. "Hey, while we're in here, do you wanna make out? High School tradition, and all the rest."

"Is that all you think about, Finn Hudson?"

He knew his face was etched with that guilty, sheepish look he was teased about so much, and nodded. "Well, yeah, Kurt," he said, loving the way his voice sounded as the consonants of Kurt's name dripped from his tongue.

"Well. We do have tonight to look forward to..."

Finn paused, placing his hands in his pockets. Seemed like all it took to get him hard and aching nowadays was a saucy raise of Kurt's eyebrow.

Though, before he could form a reply, Kurt was pressing him against the wall, his tongue licking patterns across his jaw in that delicious way he'd done at the club. Kurt kissed him, and there wasn't anything soft or slow about it, fingers tangling in his hair, massaging his scalp, Kurt's lips slightly chapped, but just so addictive and so _right_. Finn laughed lightly as his nose bumped against Kurt's and they broke apart with a smile.

"Hm," he said, "um, you can do that again if you like?"

"Really, Finn?" Kurt said, meekly, in contrast to the tip of his pinkie finger which began tracing the inseam of his pants.

"That's... kind of too much, Kurt. If you don't stop, I'm gonna..." He lowered his voice, even though he knew that if anyone had heard anything, it would have been the thump of his fist hitting the wall earlier. "I'm not gonna be able to control myself."

Briefly, he wondered if Kurt even knew about his _problem_. Finn didn't exactly have to offer a prayer and sacrifice his favorite NFL card to the ghost of that unfortunate mailman these days, but his prowess if one could call it that definitely fell into the realms of quantity rather than quality; Rachel had said as such. He didn't make a habit of coming in his pants these days, but if Kurt kept doing _that_ with his finger…

"Oh?" Kurt said, with a raise of his eyebrow. "We can't be having that now, can we, Finn?"

Finn threw his hands up to his head in dismay. "You're just gonna leave me... hanging?"

"Yes. Well. For now," Kurt winked, smoothed his shirt down with one hand, and shot him a devious smile. "The parentals are going to the car show over in Lexington tonight, remember?"

"Can you _not_ call them our parents? It's all incesty and wrong. And, yeah. I was gonna go with them."

"Noted. And parents or not, why would we intrude on their date night?" Kurt's smirk was dangerous, as he traced his finger just that little bit higher. "It's a two hour drive; they're not going to be back until gone midnight, Finn. I think we should have a date night of our own."

Finn opened and closed his mouth, unable to articulate, well, anything.

"Ta ta for now," Kurt said, and shot him a grin over his shoulder before exiting the closet. Finn suspected with all the hair and clothing changes Kurt made on a daily basis, nobody paid the slightest bit of attention to him as he walked out with his nose tipped up in the air like he was following the trail of some delicious-smelling scent. Finn, on the other hand. Well. He needed a moment to compose himself before he exited. Shifting his hands in his pockets he used his knee to nudge the door open a slither, peered left, peered right, and took a deep breath.

The coast was clear, and he couldn't see any hockey players, or jocks, or even a Skank or two about to get on his case. Huh. Not that any of those girls cared a jot about football, but any excuse to humiliate someone in the higher echelons of High School didn't pass them by.

Hm. He'd actually managed the clichéd making out in a closet thing. Well. Sort of. It was a little bit naughty, and more than a little hot, and he'd seen Kurt and Blaine holding hands before, chaste, kissing each other on the cheek, and always assumed that Kurt would be a little more... shy? Well. Saturday night had proved him wrong, and this was just further confirmation that one didn't have to get Kurt Hummel drunk to unleash his... other side.

Wait. Kurt hadn't even _mentioned_ Blaine. Cool.

Walking out of the closet, and he was well aware of how odd that sounded in his head, he placed his hand over his mouth to hide his grin, suspecting it was so bright that anyone looking at it directly would need sunglasses.

000

Algebra was his final class that day, and he drummed his fingers on his desk, awaiting his test results. Mrs. Garlow met his eyes briefly as she walked between the rows of desks. Raising an eyebrow, she frowned as she reached Finn's desk, placing his paper in front of him. Face down. Well, at least she had some decorum and wasn't going to highlight his ineptitude for math in front of the whole class. Sighing, he flicked the corner, and his suspicions were confirmed as the large, red mark met his eyes like a particularly stubborn stain.

59. Not even a D minus, this time.

As everyone else giggled and made their way out of the classroom, discussing how _awful_ their Bs were, Finn strode over to his teacher's desk. Mrs. G had suffered his company for a year now, and knew his _in_capability far too well.

"Um, can I retake? If I don't pull a C in this class, it's... it's not gonna look good on my transcript."

His teacher merely sighed at him. "Look, Finn. This is your third time here, including summer school, and I don't think you're going to pass. Perhaps college just isn't for you?"

"But the other guys on the team, they... look. I'll study extra hard. I'll double my tutoring. You don't get it, I have to do this!"

She merely shook her head and sat down. "None of the other guys on the team are failing, Finn." She paused, eyeing his twitching hands with suspicion. "And don't take it out on the chair. Coach Beiste isn't like the other coaches we've had at McKinley, and gave me strict orders _not_ to give any leniency to any of her players. Quite rightly, too. There's more to life than being a Buckeye, you know."

"No!" He shook his head. "No. I'm not getting anyone's _sympathy_. I don't want college football; I'd never be smart enough for OSU. I wanna go to Kent State, and there's this scholarship I'm trying to shoot for, but unless I bring my GPA up, it's pretty much hopeless."

"Okay," she said, and Finn realized she was chewing her pen, like she actually _cared_ or something. "Wait. Mr. Schuester's told me what you do in that glee club of yours, and you're a hard worker when you put your mind to it. I don't want to offend you, but have you ever been tested for dyscalculia, Finn?"

He looked down at his crotch suspiciously. "Dys _what_? No. No, I've always been... uh safe. And isn't it kind of inappropriate for my math teacher to be asking me that? No offense."

"No, Finn," she replied, Finn grateful for the kindness in her eyes because she had to have found that funny, but it wasn't reflected on her face. "It's a math disability. A little like dyslexia, only with numbers, not words."

"I don't have a disability. I'm just. Well, dumb." He shrugged, and held his test out in front of him with a nod. "Case in point."

"You most certainly aren't stupid, but you should make an appointment to see Ms. Pillsbury."

"What if I do have this... thing. Isn't that gonna... make any college want me even _less_?"

She smiled at him. "Far from it, Finn; it's a legitimate problem, and some colleges are incredibly accommodating and waive your math requirement, especially those offering two-year programs. I'm sorry nobody suggested this sooner, but hey, maybe it's not too late to get you on the Great White Way with that sweet little girlfriend and brother of yours, right?"

"You can _actually_ be bad at math? Like, in your genes, bad? Cool." He smiled, feeling relief wash over him, still wondering what the Great White Way was and not wanting to correct her _assumptions_. It seemed like all the teachers knew his... business. Didn't they have anything better to talk about? In Lima, he supposed not, and that was just one more reason why he had to get away from the place. "So I can ditch the tutor?"

"Wait until the test results come back before you crack open the champagne, Finn," she said with a shake of her head.

"Awesome! Have a great Christmas, Mrs. G!" He rummaged in his bag, placing an apple on her desk and left the room with a smile and a wave, all but bouncing on his feet. Apples were awesome, and it seemed like the right thing to do. He'd appreciate that, if he were a teacher. Teachers and authority figures always seemed to like him, too. Hey, coaching or something might suit him, maybe that was a thought if he really _couldn't _do physical therapy without math? It would beat sitting behind a desk all day.

Hm. He'd appreciate an apple right now, or maybe a grilled cheese, Kurt could maybe -

Finn froze. The first thing he registered was the cold, clammy feeling of sticky red liquid hitting his face from all sides, the spray forceful enough to knock him off his feet. Pasta sauce. He'd been sprayed with freaking _pasta sauce_, and as he tried to rub the peppery liquid away from his stinging eyes, he realized he would never complain about slushies again.

"Enjoy your trip to Italy? Hope your fairy bread of a brother has the tide stick ready!"

Azimio? Williams? Gacy? Through his bleary eyes, he couldn't quite tell, but whoever had done this would be _dead_.

"Three bean soup's on the menu for tomorrow," a female voice, bright and airy but edged with malice, called out. It almost sounded like Quinn, and through his squint, Finn saw a cottony flick of blonde hair and an umbrella-like skirt hitting just below the knee. "Not your usual Triple Whopper, but perhaps it's time to start dieting and stop living, Hudson."

Quinn wouldn't. Would she? Oh, _God_. Maybe the onslaught of food was making him hallucinate.

Standing up, he heard laughter echo around him as he fell back down on his ass. Coughing, he sprayed sauce from his mouth, probably looking like some crude parody of a beached whale. He groaned again, hearing the whirr and click of phone cameras around him. So much for the kiss that missed being his most embarrassing moment of High School; he had the feeling this would be the first of many such attacks, and that he was going to spend the rest of his Senior year being used as a human lunch tray and potentially getting his fifteen minutes of fame as one of those Internet jokes.

Trust him to be so stupid he couldn't even put two and two together. Oh, no, wait. He_ literally_ couldn't put two and two together. He was a loser, he wasn't going to get into college, he was falling for his own _brother_ and he'd caught a ride with Kurt that morning and Kurt had probably left without him, too. What was that word they said in chemistry? The one Kurt had taught him for his SATs? Entropy. The more things came together, the more they fell apart. Sometimes, he was grateful his vocabulary had widened due to Kurt's influence, although really, he could sum up his Senior year in a single sentence: nothing was coming together at all, except for the fact he was slowly becoming McKinley High's favorite punchline. Sighing, he stood up, trying not to slip over his tomatoey feet, and plodded down the hallway to find Kurt, the slop and squelch and shame of his messy red footprints trailing behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Sometimes, and only sometimes, life threw Finn a pleasant surprise. On this occasion, the surprise came in the form of Tina Cohen-Chang. With her whirling mane of humbug hair, she was akin to a superhero as she grabbed Finn's hand and steered him towards the locker room, explaining she'd given Mike 'vocal practice' after school and couldn't help but hear the commotion. That was gross, yet serendipitous, so Finn wasn't about to complain as Tina thrust a pale pink towel in his dripping hands and instructed him to go and shower. She was even kind enough to write down Mike's locker combination, explaining to Finn that Mike's gym kit was likely to be a little tight, but preferable to smelling like Da Mario's, at the very least.

"It wasn't Quinn, by the way," she'd said, kindly, and he wondered whether she really _was_ a vampire or something, because how else could she have read his mind like that? "She coaches baby gymnastics on a Monday evening. Come on. If you're quick, Mike can give you a ride. He's cooking for me tonight, so we'll swing by the store, if that's okay?"

_Perfect Mike Chang, _Finn thought. _God, his abs._ _I bet his abs are plastic_, but then he pressed that thought down. He'd found it hard enough to think that way about _Kurt_, and he really didn't need to be mentally undressing Mike in front of his meek, but not mild, girlfriend.

"Thanks," he replied. "I'll be five minutes, max, and Mom and Burt are out so I was gonna pick up some food anyway." He paused. "You're kinda badass, Tina. No wonder Mike's wrapped around your finger."

"I know," she replied, with a sly smile. "I am."

A warm shower, and he felt better already, but still couldn't help but cringe as he walked out to Mike's car. Mike's spare gym kit didn't leave much to the imagination, and he felt the ridges of the shorts cut into his thighs, but it was clean at least, and he didn't have to walk home smelling like oregano, so it could have been a lot worse.

000

"So," Finn said, glancing warily at the acres of pre-packaged microwave meals. "What should I cook for Kurt?"

Tina placed her finger to her bottom lip, considering both the options she'd probably go for, and the times she'd seen Finn burn things in Home Ec. "Get some pre-cooked chicken breast, a bag of arugula, walnuts, balsamic dressing, and some goat cheese. Tasty, but chicken salad's a winner, and no need to call out the fire department if you try to use the stove, yes?"

"God, she's awesome, isn't she?" Mike said, Finn shuddering as he noticed the jar of nutella and marshmallows in Mike's basket. They had to be making s'mores for an indoor bonfire or something, because Finn didn't want to contemplate what _else_ they might be doing on _their_ date night.

"Totally," Finn said, and he had to admit a salad sounded delicious, even if he would be raiding the pantry with frantic hunger afterwards. He smiled fondly at Tina, who was making sweeping ninja motions in front of her face. "You're like, Asian Rogue or something."

"I'm both awesome, and perceptive," she replied. "Kurt's always bitched to me he has to cook for _himself _when you play house, though, so this does seem a little out of character. Do you have a date, Finn?"

Finn felt his cheeks warm up, probably resembling the color of that infernal sauce he'd been assailed with earlier.

"Okay," he said, sighing. "Yeah. I do."

As Tina rubbed her hands happily, Mike extended his for a high five. "Cool, is she someone we know? One of the Cheerios?"

Tina frowned, her tiny nose crinkling with faint disgust. "Sugar? Oh, no. Suddenly my frappe isn't agreeing with me..."

"No!" Finn stared into his basket. "It's, uh... someone, uh, new."

Tina smiled knowingly, the fluorescent light from the store hitting the dimples in her cheeks. "Oh, someone _new_?"

"Tina, leave him alone."

"Sorry," she replied, with a flick of her hair. "I'm dying to know, but Kurt always tells us the juicy details. Always."

Frowning, Finn stared back at the chiller cabinet. "I don't see any arugular here... is it, like, in the freezer cabinet?"

Mike grabbed his arm and steered him towards the vegetable aisle. Finn realized there was no way he was ready for his... thing, whatever it was, with Kurt, to be pushed into the public domain. He needed to change the subject, and fast. Wait. Change the subject? That was what they did in Algebra, wasn't it? Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Hey," he said, giving Mike his best puppy-dog look. "You're great at math, right? Kurt said he was gonna get Blaine to tutor me in that and US History, but Blaine..."

Nodding, Tina patted his arm gently. "Blaine has the tact and diplomacy of a five year-old," she said, without even trying to look apologetic. "We went shopping with him once, and it was like a private taping of _Project Runway_ hosted by Barney the Dinosaur and Simon Cowell's overly-vocal lovechild."

"I'd love to, Finn!" Mike's smile was bordering on crazy, and so animated Finn backed away in shock. "Why didn't you ask me before? Tutoring football players is the kind of wholesome extra curricular my Dad _lives_ for!"

"It won't put you out? I'm pretty bad, so bad they think I have, like, math dyslexia, but you were so kind and explained things so well when you gave me dance lessons last year."

"Nah," Mike replied. "I'm good at managing my time, and I managed to get _Strando_ a B-. I think I can handle a bit of Hudson."

Finn blushed at the thought of Mike _handling_ him. Crap. Maybe Kurt _wasn't_ his only exception?

"But there's nothing in it for you, is there? Unless..." Finn paused, beaming at them both. "Wait! Tina, you've been after a solo since, like, Freshman year, haven't you?"

"But I'm no Rachel," she said, downcast.

"Well, no," Finn replied. "You're not. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't ever sing. I'm gonna chat to Mr. Schue tomorrow."

Mike shook his head. "She won't -"

Yet, suddenly, Finn was almost knocked off his feet as a tornado of Tina hit his chest, all but willing him to lift her up in the air and swing her around like a carousel horse.

"You'd do that for _me_? Really?"

"Of course!" Finn placed his hands around her waist, gently, then patted her on the shoulder. "Look, you two go do..." He didn't exactly want to think about _what_ they did on their dates. "Whatever you need to do. I have to get going but I'll talk to Mr. Schue tomorrow, okay? I should have stood up for you in the choir room the other day, and before, and I didn't. It's the least I can do for you. I got this."

Tina's eyes were dreamy and Finn couldn't help but smile; she must have had a million song ideas swarming around her head.

"Etta James? What do you think, Mike?"

"Didn't Etta James sing that _Baby I Don't Care _song Rachel uploaded to YouTube a while back?"

Mike smiled, wryly. "That was _Wendy James, _Finn."

"Oh! Joni Mitchell! How about _River_ or, or, _Both Sides Now?_"

Yeah, Tina was clearly getting carried away. Finn had to put a stop to that or Mike would be stuck in the store until midnight while she discussed potential Sectionals songs.

"Emergency call to Kurt tonight, huh, dear?" Mike slung an arm around her shoulders happily.

Finn thumbed the packs of salad leaves carefully, and selected the least brownish yellow packet before placing it in his basket. "Yeah, you do that, Tina. Kurt's been asking Mr. Schue for you to sing for ages, but... well, you know, he doesn't always listen to Kurt."

"Thank you, Finn," she said. "So, so much. Rachel will probably throw me under a bus if this actually happens, but, yeah. You can be kind of cool sometimes, even if we don't, uh, tell you that..."

"Damn right," Mike replied. "We're all a little sick of Blaine taking charge, and he doesn't seem to get what _our_ glee club is about. We'll have Puck on our side, for sure. And Kurt. Oh, and that Irish kid. Rachel's been enemy number one ever since she dumped you, you know."

Great. Rory. Finn had more than a few _suspicions _about that foreign exchange kid's intentions. Yes, Rory had made it clear to him that his one goal in life was to lose his virginity to Brittany, but then Kurt had said similar things during that crazy week two years ago when he'd raided Burt's closet for plaid, and Finn knew how _that _had turned out. Crap. It was flattering at first, having someone who looked up to him with bright blue eyes, but Rory's intensity was freaking him out in a way Kurt's never did, and that was something else he'd have to address tomorrow.

"We're kind of a messed up family," Tina said, as she waved goodbye. "But you know what? I don't think we'd have it any other way."

Finn smiled brightly, returning her wave. "Yeah, me neither. I owe you guys, like, a million. See you tomorrow!"

Whistling to himself, he completed his shopping and left the store with a literal spring in his step. Aside from the uncomfortable rub and chafe of Mike Chang's too tight gym shorts against his inner thighs, things were looking up already.

000

Still whistling, because _November Rain_ was ridiculously long after all, Finn tore through the door with his shopping bags in his arms, feeling the weight of the day drain from his shoulders as he dumped them on the kitchen floor.

"Kurt?" He said. "Where are you? I got us dinner!"

"Well, hello there," Kurt said, tiptoeing up to kiss him chastely on the cheek. "How was your day, sweetie?"

Finn felt awfully domestic all of a sudden, until he took in Kurt's clothing. It took only a second for his throat to dry, crisp, like the icy leaves outside, because Kurt was wearing his old Cheerios pants and a loose shirt which hit just below his waist. His pants clung to him like a second skin, and... Kurt must have known he could have stopped traffic in those. Must have done, because Finn, and probably anyone in the tri-country area, could see _everything_.

"My day sucked," Finn said, beginning to put his groceries away. "I got sauced."

Kurt raised his eyebrow. "Sauced? Is that some new pick-up line the girls are using on you, or..."

Finn shook his head, weariness creeping back through his bones. "No. Actually sauced. With pasta sauce, I -"

Kurt walked behind him and placed his head on Finn's shoulder. "Don't think about that now."

"So. How was your day? Did Blaine -"

Bending down to pick up a shopping bag, Kurt peered inside it, a curious look on his face. "He'll be fine, Finn." He paused, his mouth curling up in a smirk. "Arugula and goat cheese? Really?"

"Shut up!" Finn said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "I thought it would be nice to make dinner for us, and Mom even said we could use that leftover wine in the fridge, and there's no hob involved, I swear! It's all self-assemblage!"

Kurt squeezed his shoulder. "That's lovely, it really is, but isn't there something else you'd like to do first?" His voice rumbled, purring almost, low in his throat. Finn gulped; Kurt had never sounded like _that_ before, and it sent every ounce of blood in his body straight towards his groin.

"Um, homework? Isn't that what I should be doing?"

"Oh, really?" said Kurt, his normal tone back with a vengeance. "Well. Don't mind me, then."

But Finn did, and dropped his drink on the floor with a thud, because Kurt was _stretching_ in front of him, a small, milky slither of stomach winking at him, his pants low, showing the hard curve of his hipbone, and Finn was only human, had to do it, and grabbed a handful of Kurt's shirt, pressing him against the kitchen wall, Kurt's mouth an 'o' of surprise.

"You expect me," Finn gasped, sliding his thigh between Kurt's legs, "to come in, and find you wearing _this_, and talk to me like _that,_ and then go and do my homework?" Kurt's gasp spurred him on and Finn pressed a line of open-mouthed kisses across his smooth neck. "I don't think _homework_ was what you had in mind, huh?"

"No," Kurt replied, softly, and the moment his water-chilled lips slid against Finn's, Finn felt his brain wipe itself clean of coherent thought because Kurt was groaning against his mouth, and twisting his hands in his hair, kissing him frantic, messy, hard and wet, clutching his back desperately.

"Upstairs, Finn," he said, through broken pants. "Now."

It felt like hours had passed as they tangled together, tripping over each other's feet, kissing on each step because they didn't want to let go, and couldn't let go, a torturous stretch of time until they collapsed onto Kurt's bed, the frame groaning under their combined weight. Finn reminded himself to breathe through his nose, steady, in and out, in and out, as his trembling fingertips fumbled with the hem of Kurt's shirt.

Kurt reached up to stroke Finn's hair, his eyes open and honest and so full of trust. "Are you okay?"

Nodding, Finn slumped back against the headboard. "Yeah. I guess, I'm..." He stretched, curling his toes, and scrunched his hands in his hair, needing something, anything to do with his nervous hands. "This is just new to me, that's all."

"It's okay, Finn." Kurt's cheeks were blush-red as he coughed lightly. "It's okay. We can just make out if you want to."

"No!" he said, louder than intended, his heart hammering so hard he swore Kurt could feel it beat against his own chest. "That's, that's great, but I want..."

Kurt was so kind, so gentle, so sympathetic while Finn was being such a fumbling idiot.

"Would you feel more comfortable if we got under the covers?"

Finn nodded and slid between the sheets. He couldn't help but gasp as he watched Kurt remove his shirt, his rosy pink nipples hardening in the cool air before he slid under the covers, his chest radiating so much heat, a delicious contrast to the cotton sheets which felt like a cool glass of milk against his skin.

"I want... I..."

God, he felt about two inches tall. He bet his life that _Blaine_ was never this incompetent, and here he was, demanding that the blankets come up to his chin like some sort of Victorian heroine, unable to articulate what he wanted, what he needed, like the loser he was. Squeezing his eyes shut, he slid his palms down to his shorts, feeling how _wet_ they were at the front, confirmation of just how ridiculously turned on he was. Palming himself, he hissed as the rough fabric brushed against his erection, and took a deep breath before tossing them on the floor.

What _did_ he want?

He'd asked Rachel to suck him off, once, though hadn't used that exact phrase because he would have been kicked out of bed for _that_, but it had lasted for a total of twelve seconds before she'd burst into tears, complained about irreversible vocal chord damage, and tiptoed downstairs to fetch herself a cup of throat coat tea. When she came back, fully-clothed, of course, her Dad and Daddy had pounded on the door, asking her if their _mommellah_ needed a cup of water, and, yeah. The experience hadn't been one he'd wanted to repeat in a hurry.

No. He wasn't going to think about _Rachel_, not when _Kurt's_ sure, soft hands were trailing down his shaking body. Yeah, he knew what he wanted, and _pleasant_ wouldn't even begin to describe it.

"Kurt. I'd love your hands on me," he said, exhaling.

Kurt's stare was curious, but not apprehensive, and Finn was relieved he didn't reply _hands on you where_, or _but my hands are already on you_, or any sarcastic variations of that, because he could quite have easily said something akin to that, quite have easily made him feel even smaller, but instead he merely smiled, his teeth glinting, bright like diamonds.

Finn gripped Kurt's shoulders tightly. "Kiss me, then," he said, feeling oddly assertive, and he half expected Kurt to hit him with a throw pillow for _that_ and so before Kurt could say anything else, Finn rolled him over, pinning down his thin wrists, kissing the squeak of surprise away from his throat, Kurt shuddering each time Finn ground his leg against his hardness, rolling his eyes back in his head, biting his lip, the vein in his neck pulsing as he clenched his teeth.

"God, you feel amazing," Kurt said, licking a stripe up Finn's neck, slow and gentle in contrast to the roughness of his hand which was squeezing Finn's cock. "You're so hard for me, so _big_..."

Shuddering, Finn felt like he was being catapulted between Kurt's gentle, soft voice and his hard, warm body in the most delicious manner. Where the _hell_ had Kurt learned to talk like that? Certainly not in any of those hand-holding Broadway musicals he watched. Finn made a mental note to sneak into Kurt's room and investigate his browser history at the next available opportunity; he could certainly learn some... things from that.

"Is that good?" Kurt said, his other hand rubbing rough circles against the crown of Finn's hairline.

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah," Kurt said, with a lazy nod. "Yes," he said, against Finn's lips, his quick kiss turning deeper, urgent, his tongue flickering against the roof of Finn's mouth like a wet flame.

Finn groaned as Kurt's thumb swiped over the head of his cock. "Fuck," he said, his words tangling hopelessly in the air. "God, stop, I need... need to touch you."

Kurt merely gripped him harder, and then broke away.

"This isn't about me, right now."

The look in Kurt's eyes was slightly tentative, yet brilliant, and so intense, as he locked his bright eyes on Finn's and rummaged under his pillow.

"Kurt?" Finn frowned, feeling colder all of a sudden. "What are you doing?"

"Trust me," he replied, his breath warm against Finn's ear as he extracted a pale blue bottle from under his pillow, squirting a generous amount into the palm of his hand.

"You're not gonna, uh, put it in me, right? I don't think I can -"

Kurt chuckled gently. "No! I just... it makes it smoother, when I'm doing this on my own, and I thought you might..."

Finn glanced at the bottle. Kurt had used this on _himself_? And, judging by the fact the bottle was at least half empty (or, he supposed, half-full if you considered it) Kurt had used it on himself a _lot_.

As Kurt slicked his palms, Finn tentatively peered under the comforter, trying not to cringe at the sight of his own body, naked, and not exactly pleasing to his own eyes.

"Come on, Finn." Kurt's face was nothing but gentle as he reached down, beneath his sheets, which Finn supposed cost more money than every single item in his own wardrobe. "You feel so good in my hand, so good, but... can I see you? Please?"

Kurt was all smooth, and delicate, and he just felt like this big, lumbering moose in comparison. Why would Kurt want to see _that_? He nodded and pushed the sheets away from his body, groaning as Kurt's eyes glanced over his body, fire and urgency and hunger in every single part of his expression. Kurt clearly _did_ want to see it, and he'd just have to push his self-esteem issues aside for once.

"God, you're gorgeous," Kurt said, gripping him hard, and slick, his other hand digging into Finn's thigh with so much force he suspected it would bruise.

Finn reached down and placed his hand over Kurt's. "Harder," he said. "Harder, please, that's..."

"Push your knees up to your chest, Finn."

Bossy Kurt was _hot_, and Finn complied, on autopilot, as Kurt's hand gripped him, sure and certain, slick and tight, and all of a sudden his finger was _there_, as his hand continued to work him, twisting and turning and wringing him inside out, and he barely had time to open his mouth to protest before Kurt's finger was inside him, hooking deep in some sort of weird rubbing motion, pressing once, twice, and it was all too much, he was just _so_ close, and he groaned so hard he felt his chest vibrate as he twitched around and against Kurt's hands, flopping back onto the bed with a happy sigh, bedsheets pooled around his waist, his stomach wet, and messy, his eyes glazed over.

Christ. He must have looked _absurd_. Thank God Burt hadn't acquiesced and allowed Kurt to have those weird mirrored ceilings. For some reason, he felt like laughing, and so he did. He didn't think he'd ever be able to stop.

"Ugh. I need to get cleaned up," he said, his throat hoarse, accepting the tissue Kurt passed towards him.

Kurt pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Really, now? You appear to be obsessed with showers lately. Are _Bath and Body Works_ funding you through college now or something?" he paused, fingering the damp strands of hair curled up against Finn's forehead. "And next time, can we just skip the covers? Every... _inch_ of you is gorgeous, Finn"

"Nah. Shower, dude. You need to clean up, too. You have a little..." feeling bold, he swiped a finger to Kurt's cheek, tasted _himself_, humming happily under his breath. How he'd even got that on Kurt's cheek, he wasn't quite sure, but then he couldn't remember a time when he'd come quite so fiercely and it wasn't exactly a _bad _thing.

Kurt was utterly speechless, still panting under his breath. Standing up on shaky, coltish legs, Finn merely glanced over his shoulder and shot Kurt a wink. The look on Kurt's face indicated he wasn't going to turn him down this time.

Walking to the bathroom, Finn turned on the taps and stepped under the spray of the shower, warm water cascading over his skin, and it was only a moment before Kurt's slender naked form was pressed coldly against his side, and Finn didn't even miss a beat before he slid to the floor, the tub cold and hard beneath his knees. He took a deep breath. Looked up. It was...kind of staring him in the face. He looked up further, Kurt's eyes glassy and wet, tendrils of water dripping down his smooth chest, the dark line of hair trailing down from his navel collecting moisture, and Finn couldn't help but press his lips against the head of Kurt's cock, tasting him.

God. He was _beautiful_.

"Are you okay? You don't have to..."

Don't freak out now, Finn's brain helpfully reminded him. He'd made out with Kurt in a closet at school. He'd had Kurt's finger in his ass. He'd made elaborate plans to cook Kurt his best, albeit misguided attempt at a romantic dinner. It was okay. It had to be, and Kurt had certainly enjoyed making _him_ feel good.

"Yeah, Kurt. Yeah, I _want _to," he said, more for his own benefit, and took a deep breath. "I really, really want to."

It wasn't too weird. Kind of salty, heavy against his tongue, and it made his mouth ache a little, but the noises Kurt made, those squeaky, echoing breathy moans were enough to make his cock twitch again.

He gripped Kurt's hipbones roughly as Kurt came, his thighs trembling, and swallowed everything with a groan, standing up on aching feet, letting the warm spray of water soothe his sore knees and kissed Kurt, exploring his skin, exploring everything he could, and every single one of his fingers were wrinkled and sore by the time the shower began to run cold. Stepping out onto the bathmat, Finn passed Kurt a soft towel and pressed a kiss to his shoulder before they walked back into the bedroom and collapsed back on the bed in an inelegant, damp, sated heap.

000

"Crap," Finn said.

"Crap?" Kurt rubbed his eyes, and then glanced at the clock on his nightstand. "Oh, crap. It's half past nine!"

"It's your fault. You're the cuddler," Finn said, with a grumble.

"Me? You're the one wrapped up like a human pretzel." Kurt paused. "Hey. No apologies are necessary, but we should probably get dressed, hm?"

Pulling away, Finn stood up, not feeling nearly as self-conscious after their extended shower together. "Hey, why don't I rent us a room after Sectionals next week? Mom can't change her shift, and we could encourage them to have a date night, and..."

"Of course!" Kurt smiled happily. "There's a brilliant French restaurant nearby. Bla-" he managed to stop himself in time. "I read a review of it. Perhaps I can make reservations if you pay for the room? Don't even think about wearing _those_, though." Kurt gestured to Finn's favorite pair of Converse, the faded white pair he'd not seen in _months_ which sat sadly in the corner next to Kurt's music stand, and how the hell had those ended up in Kurt's room, anyway?

"Dude," he said. "After all that food, you're gonna be burping me."

"You are just too sexy for words," Kurt said, with a shake of his head. "It's a date"

"A date?" Finn chuckled. He kissed Kurt's forehead, and then his cheek. "Wow. Yeah. I guess it is. You know, I... really like this, uh, this thing we have. Um, are we boyfriends, now?"

"I suppose so. But it feels like..."

"Comfortable, yeah. The same as before, only now I _can _do all the things I've been wanting to do."

Kurt nodded. "Do we really need a label, then? Can't we just be, well. Us?"

Reaching for his palm and squeezing tightly, Finn sighed. "I suppose we can. At least for the time being. I can't... we can't keep secrets forever, but maybe... maybe it wouldn't be so bad, Kurt. If they _did_ know. I don't like to keep things from the people I care about. Maybe we could tell -"

A shrill noise pierced the air, and Kurt fumbled on the bedside table and glanced at his phone with a groan. "Tina. Hm. This had better be important."

"Oh? I wonder what _she_ wants?" Finn said, trying to conceal the mirth in his voice. "Find out, then meet me downstairs. I'm fixing dinner for us."

Glancing down at himself, he briefly wondered whether Kurt would protest if he fixed dinner wearing nothing but an apron, but he shook his head. He might not need a heat source, but he'd need a _knife_, and his Mom might well return earlier than expected and even Burt wouldn't have bought that he was dense enough to have thought _The Naked Chef_ was literal.

000

After dressing, Finn bounded downstairs. Making a salad wasn't much harder than assembling a sandwich, and contrary to Kurt's opinion, Finn wasn't completely inept at food preparation, providing he didn't have to use the grill, or anything that required a great deal of concentration or coordination. One of the few perks he had of a mother who worked swing shift when he was younger, he supposed. Tasting his salad dressing and adding the finishing touches, he smiled at Kurt's expression as he placed the plates down on the cleanly set table.

"This looks delicious, Finn. You, you _made this_? Is this..." Kurt gave his glass of wine a happy sniff. "Oh my, is this a Chenin Blanc?"

Finn nodded, not wanting to give away that he had no idea what kind of wine it was. "Just a little something I put together," he said, with a smile. "Call it a Hudson original."

"You really are full of surprises," Kurt said, returning his smile, the candlelight illuminating his face softly, as they ate their dinner in comfortable silence, Kurt stroking his calves with his foot from under the table.

"To us," Kurt said, and Finn couldn't help but smile at how happy he looked. _That_ smile of Kurt's was infectious. "And to the rest of our Senior Year not sucking like a toothless canary."

"Yeah," Finn replied, taking a sip of his drink, which was sort of sour and weird-tasting, but Kurt didn't seem to mind, so it couldn't have been _that _bad. "So what did Tina want?"

"Just my help for Sectionals," he said, tapping the rim of his glass with his index finger. "And I have the perfect song for her to sing. The judges are going to _love it_."

"Oh! Tell me!" said Finn, excited, and happy, feeling about ten years old, but he couldn't care, and he couldn't wait for next week. They'd been close. _Close_ close. And they'd gone back to bantering, and talking, and being _them_ without a moment's pause. No crying, no regrets, just _them_. He was absolutely right when he said he'd never met a girl like Kurt the other week; he'd never meet another boy like Kurt, either, or anyone that he could just be himself around, without fearing he'd be laughed at. He could just _be_.

Was that what love was, then?

He couldn't think about that right now, though, couldn't think about sitting with Kurt on some cheesy grassy knoll and watching the stars come out, because they had to get ready for Sectionals, and think about their future, and he had his Mom's Christmas present to buy, and there were so many other mundane, yet important and scary things Senior year was bringing. Still. He smiled, and reached for Kurt's hand. So, maybe he was in love. Just a little bit. Just enough that his heart clenched tightly, and it felt like the stars were right there in the dining room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Puck turned to Finn, tossing a basketball in his hands. "Dude, I just don't see how some pansy-assed jump rope shit's gonna help us with vertical leaps. I mean, wouldn't leaping the stadium stairs be…" He paused. "Well. Shit."

Gulping, Finn turned around, his heart pounding in his chest, because the squelch and squeak of sloppy footprints behind him was unmistakable, but there was _no way_ they'd do that to Kurt. He and Puck would give a patriotic wedgie to anyone who _dared_, and…

"Rory?" Mike said. "What... what happened?"

Finn placed his hand over his mouth, hoping he could mask his relief as a yawn, yet raised an eyebrow quizzically as Rory merely shrugged his shoulders. Shaking his head in confusion, Finn noticed Rory seemed a lot more laissez-faire about being covered in lunch products than he would have expected. In fact, Rory almost looked relieved, as though he'd been expecting _worse_.

Reaching out, Finn swiped his index finger across Rory's damp cheek, sucking it into his mouth. "Is that...?"

Rory smiled, and wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. "Irish stew," he said, stepping back from the gray puddle pooling around his feet. "Guess I dug my own grave when I said I wanted a taste of home, eh?"

"Um... yeah," Finn replied. "That sucks, man."

"Care to help me clean up, Finn Hudson?"

"Dude," Puck muttered, shaking his head before burying it in his locker, although it did little to muffle the raspy echoes of his laughter.

At least Mike had the decency to be somewhat diplomatic. "Finn really needs to talk to Mr. Schue before glee rehearsal. Don't you, Finn?"

"Yeah, uh, sorry?" Finn said, although he couldn't help but notice Rory seemed more disappointed over Finn's reluctance to join him in the locker room than his sodden clothing. "I have some spare kit you could borrow, though?"

"Not to worry," Rory said, eyes twinkling as he accepted the outstretched sports kit from Finn's arms. "By the way, I'm going to watch a filum tonight. If you're not too busy, well, gimme a ring, eh?"

He waved goodbye, stew and diced carrots dripping from the tips of his fingers, and, oh god, did Rory just _wink_ at him?

"Guess the luck o' the Irish is a myth, huh?" Puck muttered, as Rory's wet footsteps squeaked away towards the locker room.

Finn shook his head. "Seems he ran out of luck when he ate all those four-leaf clovers to impress Brittany," he said, under his breath. "Look, he's a nice guy, but... he doesn't make it easy for himself, and Coach is aware of what's happening, so I dunno what else I can do. And what the hell is a fil-um?"

"A film, I think. Like, a movie?" Mike nudged Finn's shoulder. "The guy's only fifteen. Remember what _Kurt_ was like around you when _he_ was fifteen, huh? And you guys are so tight now."

"I'll say." Puck waggled his eyebrows at Finn. "Have to say he's been a lot _tighter_ with you since he said bye to the Hobbit."

Mike shook his head. "Is there something you want to say, Puck?"

"No need, man," Puck said, meeting Finn's eyes and smirking. "And when they built you, _brother_, they broke the mold."

Finn felt his fingers twitch, and he steadied them around his US History textbook before closing his locker with a violent slam, his left eyelid throbbing, all set to take off in flight.

"Woah, chill out! Just singing some classic Springsteen to you, huh?"

"That song's about _death_, dude!" Finn said, through gritted teeth, and it would have been so tempting to just slam Puck back against his locker, knock that smug, _knowing_ expression from his face, but... he took a deep breath.

It was just Puck's way of winding him up. Walking away, his cheeks burned, and he faintly heard Mike mutter something like _he's under a lot of stress right now, okay?_ Finn couldn't help but chuckle lightly at that, because stress didn't even begin to cover his emotions.

000

As Finn had predicted, Mr. Schue didn't object to letting Tina sing in rehearsal. However, he hadn't predicted that the rest of the club's members would have reacted so favorably.

Well. Except Blaine, but he seemed to shoot down any idea Finn had the temerity to suggest, so that was a given.

"Pop a Xanax, Beethoven," Santana said with a click of her fingers. "Yeah, so she dresses like she's been dipped head-first into a schizophrenic cotton candy machine, but whatever, slant-eyes can actually _sing_."

Blaine stood up. "I'm not denying she can sing, and _Time after Time _is an outstanding choice, truly, but..." he tilted his head up, challenging Finn with his eyes, "don't we think it needs a bit of an extra lift?"

"From you, you mean?" Finn muttered.

"An extra lift, huh?" Santana said, with a smirk. "Like those elevator shoes you claim not to wear?"

"Will you two _let me talk_?"

"You _were_ talking," Finn replied, leaning down to clutch the chair in front of him with such force his fingertips turned white. "It's all you ever _do_. No! No more _talking_. If we don't decide on this today, there's no point us even turning up to Sectionals."

Rachel stood up and nodded at Tina, before turning to Blaine, hands on her hips. "Finn is right," she said, taking such a deep breath it was audible. "Tina, that was beautiful, and I would be happy to relinquish mine and Blaine's duet."

"Mr. Schue? Don't _I_ get a say in this? Can't you see he's... he's _manipulating_ her?"

Standing up, Santana pushed Blaine's head down, forcing him back in his seat. "Like you didn't see _that_ coming, jheri curl," she said, "and, yeah, I hate Finn rot as much as the rest of you losers, but for all of Tina's weeping, which, by the way, makes Halle Berry's acceptance speech look stoic, she isn't half bad. Not half good, either, but..."

"Yes, but it _is_ missing something," Quinn said, tapping her pen against her knee. "Some depth."

Finn took a deep breath. "Okay, Blaine. How would you feel about singing backup?"

"I - I don't really... Well, I suppose I could..."

Kurt looked up from filing his nails. "Kind of you, Finn, but it's clearly not in his range."

"Who else would you suggest, then," Blaine said, his eyes narrowing, "_Finn?"_

"Actually," Kurt said, tipping his chin in the air, "I think Santana would be a perfect choice."

"Now that, I can do," she said, with a flick of her hair. "No opposition from Berry?"

"Well," Rachel paused, chewing on her lip. "It's more of an alto part, possibly a mezzo-soprano, but... as I already have a solo, and out of the _kindness_ of my heart, and I must stress, _kindness_, because as we know my range is versatile _and_ extensive, I do want to ensure _New Directions_ doesn't falter without my talent because as you all know, I'll be singing lead in NYADA next year, and..."

"Okay, Rachel," Finn said, interrupting her with a shake of his head. "So, we're settled, then? Anyone opposed?"

Blaine raised his hand slowly, but it barely reached his chest before he put it back down, resting it on his thigh. Was Blaine _deferring_ to him? _Blaine_? Finn subtly attempted to pump his fist, hoping he didn't seem like too much of a douche for doing it, because he couldn't help but grin.

"Great," he said, with a nod, trying to contain his euphoria which all but threatened to bubble over, because he felt like dancing a freaking _jig_. "It's settled, then."

As the bell rang, Mr. Schue clapped his hands, a spotlight grin etched on his face. "Great teamwork, guys! Let's do a run-through tomorrow and get this thing _down_."

Nodding enthusiastically, and trying not to notice how his teacher's bright smile was mainly directed at him, Finn gathered his bag and walked to the door. He sighed, turning around as he heard the familiar echo of insistent footsteps behind him.

"Can we talk, Finn. Please?"

_Rachel_. She was wearing a white cardigan and a dark green mini dress that day, the colors contrasting against her tanned skin, hair spooling around her shoulders in bouncing curls.

"You look really nice today," he replied, then stared at the ground. "Um, but, I can't talk now, I... Look, I'm kinda busy this week, we're going to pick out, like, a huge Christmas tree and decorate it, and Kurt's gonna teach me how to bake my Mom's favorite holiday cookies and kind of... it's cheesy, but I love that family stuff, you know?"

Rachel nodded. "I forgot how much you love Christmas," she said, her face sad and wistful. "It's... nice. Okay, how about after rehearsal tomorrow, at the Lima Bean? There's... something I need to give you, okay?"

"Sure," he said, nodding. He glanced up, and felt like he'd just won the lottery, because Rachel hadn't mentioned - well, hadn't noticed - they were standing under the mistletoe , but he sped off as quickly as he could just in case and shot her a glance from over his shoulder. "See you later, Rach!"

"I'll look forward to it," she replied, yet her eyes suggested anything but as she clutched her cardigan tightly across her chest like a security blanket.

000

Grumbling to himself, Finn opened the door. Between rehearsal, and Mike's best attempts to teach him the fundamentals of Algebra II in an hour, his Wednesday had left him more than a little exhausted, flashcards still dancing in front of his eyes.

"Kurt?" he called out, slamming the door behind him, immediately walking through to the kitchen, the scent of apples and cinnamon making his mouth water. "That smells amazing. You home?"

"No," Kurt replied, tersely, the back of his sweater covered in a snowy dusting of flour as he frantically stirred a bowl full of what appeared to be cake batter. "I'm clearly not."

Finn smiled, and wrapped his arms tightly around Kurt's waist.

"Mmm," he said, glancing at the recipe Kurt was poring over. "I have, like, no idea what a _charlotte_ is, but I'm kind of glad you're making it."

"Don't you have something better to do?" Kurt said, leaning into his touch all the same.

"_Someone_, you mean," he said, pressing a kiss against Kurt's clothed shoulder. "And, nah, not really. Good to see you, too."

"Likewise, I suppose," Kurt replied. "Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah," Finn said, reaching a finger into the bowl and frowning as Kurt swatted it away with a feral hiss. "I had an appointment with Ms. Pillsbury. Did you know that beyond the crazy, she's kinda cool? She, uh, she told me I didn't have any math disability, but kind of gave me some stuff to think about, you know?"

"Oh?" Kurt said, turning around, the pink tip of his tongue sweeping out to suck cake batter from the edge of his finger. "Such as?"

"Not fair, man. Why is it okay for _you_ to do that?" Finn frowned, then took a deep breath. "Anyway. Uh, what would you say to us _both_ being in New York?"

"Chef's prerogative," he replied. "And Buffalo's _not_ in New York, Finn. Didn't we establish this?"

"No, dude. Like, _New York_, New York. Yours and Rachel's New York."

Kurt arched his eyebrow warily. "What on earth prompted this about turn? I thought you'd settled on Kent State?"

"That was before I realised that to do anything but massage someone and, like, walk them to appointments needed, like, a million years of schooling. Why the hell didn't you tell me, man?"

Rolling his eyes, Kurt patted him on the shoulder. "It's nothing personal, Finn. What I know about physical therapy fits on a postage stamp, and you just sounded so happy and excited, like you hadn't in a while, that I assumed you'd done the research, and…" Kurt paused. "Then again, I suppose this idea of yours _has_ only been three weeks in the making."

"Look!" Finn said, walking over to the table and rummaging in his backpack, extracting several brochures and thrusting them under Kurt's nose eagerly. "These places look so awesome, don't they?"

"Calm down," Kurt said, shaking his head. "I don't want a papercut in my eye right before Sectionals, the Sherlock Holmes look is rather a la mode, but I'm not sure I have time to source a monocle before Friday, and I just don't think I…"

"There's CUNY! They have a college in Brooklyn, you know, and, and... here, there's one in LaGuardia, and one in Long Island, and maybe I'm not good enough for NYU _this year_ and it's hardly NYADA, not that I _want_ to go to NYADA, but..."

"Breathe, Finn. Are you... sure about this?"

Finn nodded. "I think, I mean, I guess... she said I should take some classes at the community college next year, just general ed stuff, make sure it's really what I want, save up a bit more for college and maybe even transfer if I'm up to it?" He paused. "Kurt, you look like, like a deformed goldfish cracker! It's not _that_ stupid an idea, right? I know Rachel's been jonesing for New York since before she could breathe, but..."

Kurt tiptoed up and wrapped his arms around Finn's shoulders before pressing a kiss against his jaw.

"Finn. It's a _great_ idea."

"You're not gonna, like, lecture me on not being New York great, or...?"

"Look. Rachel bought tickets to an expired Broadway show from a man wearing nothing but a burlap sack, and asked the waitresses in Sardis if they had to pass an audition to work there. That was, when she wasn't twirling around Central Park wearing a curly blonde wig and reciting Carrie Bradshaw quotes. I love her, I do, but her Dads... Well. She's more than a little naive."

"And I'm not?"

"Well, in _certain _respects, Finn, but it's an endearing quality of yours, and if anyone has the tenacity to stand up to the Big Apple, it's you."

"Tenacity? That's good, right?"

"Yes Finn. It means that sometimes you can be a little, well, more than a little persistent when you set your mind on something, but, well, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Just believe in yourself, Finn, and you'll be amazing in New York, or Ashtabula, or Lima, or wherever you decide to make a home for yourself."

"I kind of... want to make a home for myself in New York, though," he looked at the floor, embarrassed, because he didn't quite know how Kurt would react to the thoughts that were churning through his head like those infernal flashcards of Mike's. "I kind of want to make a home with _you_."

Looking up, he gulped, because Kurt's eyes were wider than saucers.

"Finn? You want us to, to live together?"

"Well. Yeah," Finn nodded, patting him on the shoulder. "It's worked out pretty well for us this past year. Wouldn't that be the plan?"

"We've been... doing this for a week, Finn. A crazy, brilliant roller coaster of a week, but a week nonetheless."

"Yeah, but even before... the thought of being apart from you, it just..."

"I know," said Kurt with a nod. "The idea does have a certain... appeal. As long as Rachel and Blaine don't move in across the hall, that is. I can't stomach a musical theater version of _Friends_."

"Okay. That, yeah... I agree. But what if I don't like New York? What if I'm not destined for, for the Big Apple? Then what? What's gonna happen to _us_?"

"I'm not sure, but we'll deal with that when it comes, Finn." Smiling, he swept the tips of his fingers along Finn's jaw. "We'll deal with it together."

"Cool. You are just so awesome. I kinda feel like this needs a toast, or something. Fancy some sparkling cider?" He raised his hand for a high five, and Kurt batted it away. "What? Come on, I know it's left over from when Rachel came over last month, but... I put a cap in it and it can't have gone bad or anything, right? Wait. Can sparkling cider _go_ bad?"

Kurt slapped a hand to his forehead. "Never change, Finn," he muttered. "Never change."

"Never change what? Anyway, I have to go meet Rach."

"Don't be too long," Kurt said, as he tiptoed up to press a quick kiss against Finn's lips. "We're decorating the outdoor tree this evening, remember?"

"Of course," he said, shaking his head. "God, this family stuff is awesome, but... it also kind of sucks."

"What do you mean, it _sucks_?"

Finn placed his hand on Kurt's shoulder and waited for Kurt to close his eyes before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He shivered at Kurt's happy sigh before he moved his head towards Kurt's and traced his... _boyfriend's_, yes, he supposed, boyfriend's, lower lip with his tongue.

Breaking away, he smiled, and tilted Kurt's jaw upwards with the tips of his fingers, trying not to smirk as he noticed Kurt's bright, glassy eyes and slightly open mouth.

"It means I can't do _this _as much as I'd like to," he said, bracing his other hand against Kurt's lower back.

"Mmm," Kurt said, delicately, in a manner that vibrated _want_ throughout Finn's body. "You know you'll keep Rachel waiting all evening if you keep doing that, yes?"

"Yeah." Finn sighed, removing his hand regretfully. "That would suck, too. Well. Um, I'll see you later, okay?"

"Good luck, I suppose." Kurt walked over to the refrigerator and opened it, sniffing derisively before handing Finn a can of Mountain Dew. "And, yes, this will rot your pearly whites, and I wouldn't normally condone it, but I think this is one occasion where I won't protest your need for caffeine. You look like the walking dead."

"Later," Finn said, stifling a yawn and extracting his car keys from his pocket, because, yes, that wasn't exactly complimentary, but he had to admit Kurt had a point.

000

"So," Finn said, sitting down next to Rachel with trepidation, because she was stirring her soynog latte so vigorously the foam was spilling over into the saucer. "What did you want to tell me?"

Finn took a sip from his drink, and tried to meet her eyes, because he had more than a few suspicions about what she would say. And the tinny rendition of _Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)_ making itself known through the speakers was hardly going to help matters.

"Well..." She replied. "I wanted to talk about us."

"Us?"

"Or, more specifically, you. The you I saw in the choir room this week was, well, the Finn I knew _before_," she took a sip from her latte before setting it back on her saucer. "You're such a leader, and you stood up for all of us. Well, except Blaine, but..."

He shook his head. "No. I'm not gonna take the credit for that. I mean, you were pretty great, too. There's no way you'd have given up a solo back in Junior year, huh?"

Rachel merely met his eyes and gave him a smile which brimmed with optimism. "People change, Finn."

Nodding, he reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah," he replied. "I, uh, I guess they do."

"Kurt said you had a meeting with Ms. Pillsbury today," she said. "About your dreams, and, well, perhaps it's not my place, but can I help at all? Didn't we say we were going to make some new ones for you? Back when... well." She blushed fiercely, lowering her voice. "Back when we were _intimate_."

"Oh? Was this before or after you called me a bad boyfriend and, and a _loser_?"

"Finn. I can't apologize for that any more than I have already."

"It's okay," he sighed. "Kurt's helped me figure things out, and I'm kinda hopeful for the future, now."

"Oh? You're going to take over Burt's tire shop?"

"No!" He banged his fist on the table. "Why does everyone always assume that's what I want to do, I…" Pausing, he frowned. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled like that, I'm happy working for Burt at the moment, and maybe for a year or two, but it's just… it's something else."

"It is?"

"Yeah, I'm… I think I'm gonna give New York a try, Rach."

Her hands fluttered together, waving to an imaginary audience. "Oh! Oh my god! Finn! This is wonderful! We can be…"

"No," he said, reaching out for her palms, stilling them. "I'm not making this decision for _you_. It's... uh..."

Rachel clearly wasn't listening, and stood up, rummaging in the pocket of her coat and Finn gulped as she placed a small silver box festooned with light blue ribbon in front of him.

"Though I'm sure you wouldn't have remembered, today's the first day of Hanukkah, and I... it's just a small good luck token for Sectionals tomorrow."

"Rach, please. This... this isn't appropriate," he said, but he saw Rachel's eyes begin to water, and that made his chest burn with emotion, so he fumbled clumsily with the ribbon holding the box together. Opening it, he looked down at the gift with trepidation, but then couldn't help but grin.

"Wow! These are, these are just awesome!" He picked up one of the cufflinks, holding them up against the light. Drum kit cufflinks. They glimmered festively, dark blue enamel the color of the December sky, a perfect facsimile of his kit at home. "Did you pick these yourself?"

"You told me you never felt quite like yourself when you were performing, and I thought it might be nice to get you a little good luck token, like this," Rachel said, gesturing to the star necklace he'd saved three months' allowance for the previous year. "Actually, it was Kurt's idea, but..."

Finn sighed, placing them back in the box, the gift seeming somewhat tainted. He stood up. "I... I can't accept these, okay, Rach? I have to go now, I..."

"Wait! You have a -" Rachel trailed her finger along his bottom lip. "There," she said, with a smile and a nod of her head.

"Rachel," he repeated, "stop this, okay, I..."

Leaning up on tiptoes, she pressed a small kiss to his mouth, before breaking away. "I'm still in love with you, Finn. Madly, and melodramatically so. Can we be together again? Please?"

"No," he said, shaking his head fiercely, "we can't, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Rachel," he tilted her head towards his. "Look at me. You know hurting you is the last thing I would ever want to do, but I have to be honest with you, okay? I'm, uh, I'm kinda with someone else now."

"What? But we only broke up a month ago!" She narrowed her eyes. "Did I really mean that, that little to you, when I gave my greatest gift to you, and you just, managed to forget about me already? How could you! You said we'd be forever, Finn, and you go and throw _this_ in my face?"

"I didn't plan it okay! Look, it just... happened."

Gesturing towards her drink, Rachel gritted her teeth. "I have half a mind to throw _this_ in your face, Finn. Who is she?"

He shook his head, his heart pounding in his chest with increasing intensity.

"Is it some, some fling? One of the Cheerios?" She paused, beginning to pace around the table in circles. "Finn, your silence isn't exactly reassuring. Oh, my, it's not _Tina_ is it? I knew it! Those bright dresses, and, and speaking up for herself, it's like she's been trying to plant herself as..."

"No!" He said, swallowing the lump in his throat at Rachel's shocked expression. "I... I can't tell you, okay. It's gonna hurt you so much, and, oh god, it's... it's better if you hear it from _both_ of us, okay?"

"It's not okay, Finn. But, I'm adjusting to single life. I've been spending a lot of time with Quinn lately, and she's adamant that there's more to me than being _Finn Hudson's_ girlfriend, so..."

Finn bristled with anger, because quite frankly, the main problem with their relationship was that he'd spent most of his time being no more than _Rachel Berry's _boyfriend, but he took a deep breath. Rachel was hurting, hurting so much that any rational thought she'd possessed had vanished before she'd even said a word that evening, and he had the feeling there was nothing he could say to make things better for her. At least, nothing he could say that wasn't a lie.

"You've been spending a lot of time with Quinn, huh?" he said, trying desperately to add some levity, to break the tension.

"No!" She laughed. "I'm fully cognisant of fluid sexuality, but that would be analogous to you and Kurt."

Finn took a beat to process what she'd actually said, and felt the color drain from his face once he'd realized what her words meant.

"Oh, my god, oh, my god," Rachel was pacing back and forth now. "Finn? You and _Kurt_?"

"What?" He paused, taking a deep breath. "I mean, no, but, uh... what would you say if you found out we _were_?"

Rachel reached for her coat, shaking her head, and her lips turned down into a fierce scowl. "Don't even _dare_ try to throw me off the trail like that, Finn. I'm going to find out who she is. Don't think I won't." She stared up at him, her gaze steely. "And don't think this is over between us. Our story is _not_ going to end here."

"That's where you're wrong, Rachel, because we're done here, okay?"

"You'll come back to me, Finn. You always do. It's all you ever _can_ do."

As she walked away, Finn wished she'd turn around, almost wished she _would _have accused him of being in love with Kurt, because he hated that she had so much anger towards him without even knowing _why _he couldn't take her back, not that he would have even without Kurt being in the picture, but by the time he'd composed a way to articulate that, Rachel was already out of the door.

Finn bit his lip, and shook his head, realizing she'd left her gloves on the table. He placed them in his pocket, then placed his head in his hands. He knew he wasn't in the wrong, but hurting her was like a knife to his gut all the same.

000

Wednesday had been tiring, and Thursday exhausting, but both days combined were like a stroll in the park on a breezy summer's day compared to Friday. Standing on the stage, the spotlights hurting his bleary eyes, Finn wished the show choir rulebook had allowed him to prop his eyelids open with toothpicks or something. He'd been up before five, and his legs ached so much it felt like he was having another growth spurt - and he really hoped he wasn't, but his Mom had told him some of the guys on his Dad's side of the family had hit 6'6" so it wasn't too far beyond the realms of possibility - and he just wanted to wrap Kurt in his arms and sleep away the entire weekend.

As he'd clutched Brittany's hand, his palms had slipped with sweat, and he'd reeked of _Black Orchid_ or whatever Kurt's weird aftershave was called, but still.

They'd won.

Yes, having Blaine and Rachel on either side of him while Sam, in his cheerily oblivious way, belted out _With a Little Help from My Friends_ was so awkward he was sure it would be hanging on a frame somewhere in a hall of awkward fame, but they'd done it.

"It's nice to be back on top, hm?" Kurt said, thinking back to their disappointment at Nationals back in Junior Year.

"Yeah," Finn nodded, as he looked around and realized his cheeks were beginning to hurt, but he couldn't wipe the smile from his face all the same. "It is. Look, Kurt, I'm beat... the drive to Lexington kind of took it out of all of us and this after party isn't up to much. You wanna slip away to the hotel and celebrate in private?"

"Sounds like a plan," Kurt replied, reaching for his hand, and Finn looked over his shoulder, scanning the room for some dark, abandoned corner where he could tell Kurt _exactly _what his celebration would entail, but a click of Santana's fingers stopped him in his tracks.

"Well lookie here, Kurt," she said, her voice slurring slightly, "looks like you and Bandersnatch gotta get your mistletoe mack on, eh?"

Kurt shook his head and began thumbing the handkerchief in the pocket of his waistcoat, and Finn merely frowned. Were they _that _obvious? Did he have a neon sign above his head, or, oh god, a post-it note on his back announcing it to the world? Grimacing, he reached his hand behind his back and fumbled around searching for a traitorous slip of paper. Okay, no post-it or kick me sign; that was good. And mistletoe was tradition, right? And Kurt was big on traditions like that.

"Santana! They're... they're brothers!"

"Defensive, much, Tina? And it's not like they're blood-related," she replied. "Anyway, like I care. It's not like anyone wants to see the Munsters suck face."

Brittany raised her hand. "Actually..."

Yet, before Finn could ponder the social mores surrounding a piece of shrubbery, Kurt leaned towards Finn and pecked him chastely on the lips, before breaking away with a smile. Finn glanced behind him again. Aside from Santana's bemused expression and the 'aww' which escaped from Brittany's lips, everybody seemed too wrapped up in their own celebrations to care. Especially Blaine and... was that _Rory_? Finn shook his head.

"Whatever you do, don't look behind you," Finn muttered.

"Not planning on it," Kurt said in response and flicked his tongue against Finn's neck anything but chastely. "So what do you say we skip this after party, hm?"

"I can't think of any party I'd rather skip," Finn said, reaching for Kurt's hand, and squeezing it so tightly he could feel his pulse. "All I ever wanted was to celebrate this with _you_."

"Not with the guys and a mini keg?" Kurt replied, playfully punching his arm.

"No. With you and some room service nachos."

"Really, Finn? I'm on par with processed cheese? Touched, really."

"Yeah," he said, kissing Kurt softly, briefly, before breaking away with a soft smile. "More than."

He took a deep breath, and yes, he hadn't planned this, but for some reason, nothing felt more _right_ to him at that moment. "I guess it's... it's so soon, and so stupid, but... I'm kind of in love with you, Kurt. Like, a lot, and you don't, I mean, I... God, what was I thinking, I... I wanted this to be perfect, this is all wrong, Rachel was, like, _crying over there _and..." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I just had to tell you, okay?"

"It's okay, Finn. You don't have to justify the way you feel," he replied, looping his arms around Finn's shoulders. "Not when I feel the same way."

"Cool," he said. "That's... yeah. Kurt?"

"Hm?"

"We're going to have to tell 'em soon, aren't we? I mean, I kind of think Puck already knows, and... probably Tina and Mike, and Santana doesn't miss much, does she?"

"Yeah," Kurt replied. "We do, and we will, and it's going to be more than a little messy when we do, so can we just deal with that later and enjoy tonight for now?"

"Sounds like a plan even _I_ can follow," Finn said. Smiling, he met Kurt's eyes, his stomach all but flipping over because he'd never seen Kurt appear so at ease, and he realized things weren't going to be easy when they went back to school after winter break, but for now? Well. His mind was more than a little occupied with other thoughts, mostly concerned with whether he could keep on getting Kurt to lick his lips like _that_.

"Shall we blow this gin joint?" Kurt said, as he grinned brightly and slung his arm around Finn's shoulders. "I do love a good plan, and I suspect this one will work out... favorably for us."

"Yeah," Finn replied, reaching up to lace his fingers with Kurt's. "Life always kinda does, doesn't it?"


End file.
